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BOOK OF SCOTTISH BALLADS; 



COLLECTED AXB ILLUSTRATED 



HISTORICAL AND GEITICAL NOTICES, 



By ALEX. WHITELATT 



BLACKIE AND SON, 

GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, A5D WARWICK SQUARE LOXDOX. 



TRW 



«» 






Mtxxit it is in ijalle to ijear tfje $srpc, 
€§t iffiUttstrelles sjjiifle, tf)e Jogelouts carpe. 

DAVIE, (circ. i3i£) 

Gift. 

W. L. Shoemaker 
7 S '06 




^*&y- 






PKEFACE. 



m 



It may be considered remarkable, that it was not till English literature had 
reached its highest point of refinement — it was not till the days of Addison 
and Pope, or, still later, of Gray and Goldsmith — that the rude ballad poetry 
of the people became an object of interest to the learned. In the Spectator, 
Addison first drew the attention of what was then called the ' polite world' 
to the merits of the ballad of Chevy-Chase ; but he did so in the apologetic 
strain of one who was fully prepared for the said world being- surprised at 
him taking under his protection any thing so vulgar, or even humble. He 
introduces the ballad much in the manner that the fastidious yet generous 
Guy Mannering may be supposed to have introduced to his lettered friends 
the hearty borderer, Dan die Dinmont, with his spattered jack-boots and 
shaggy dreadnought : — there was no denying the rough and startling exte- 
rior, but many excellent qualities were to be found under it. Up to this 
time, the traditionary ballads of the country w r ere held to be of so rude a 
character as to be scarcely amenable to the rules of literary criticism ; no his- 
torical value seems to have been attached to them ; and with the exception of 
some plodding Pepys,* who, for his own gratification, stitched and preserved 
his ' Penny Garlands,' no endeavour was made to rescue them from the 
perishable breath of oral tradition, or the fragile security of the pedlar's 
broadside, t Soon after Addison's day, a disposition to look after the floating 









* Samuel Pepys, the gossipping but delightful Diarist of the days of Charles II. and James 
VII. j made a collection of ballads in 5 vols., which is deposited in the Pepysian library, Mag- 
dalen College, Cambridge. 

f Before the beginning of the last century, ballads were usually printed on broadsides, or a 
single square of paper : the more common way now is to print them in a small book-form cf 
four leaves, with title page. When intended for being held in the hand and sung through the 
streets, they are still printed on single slips of paper. 






poetry of the olden times began to manifest itself, and Allan Ramsay has the 
honourable distinction of leading the way in this movement. His ' Ever- 
green, being a collection of Scots poems wrote by the ingenious before 1600, ? 
contains, as ballads, The Battle of Harlaw, Johnie Armstrong, and The Reid- 
squair Raid; and his « Tea Table Miscellany,' published in 1724 and following 
years, contains, as ballads, Sweet William's Ghost, Bonnie Barbara Allan, 
The Bonnie Earl of Murray, and Johnie Faa. Some of these were obtained 
from tradition ; others from the Bannatyne MS. in the Advocates' Library. 
in the same year as the above, or rather between the years 1723 and 1725, 
was published at London, in 3 volumes, ■ A collection of Old Ballads, from the 
best and most ancient extant, with Introductions, Historical, Critical or Hu- 
morous.' This collection, with one exception, < Gilderoy,' is wholly taken up 
with English ballads. It does not mention the sources from which they are 
drawn, and its Introductions are meagre. 

These collections were but the humble harbingers of Dr. Percy's great work, 
'Reliques of Early English Poetry, consisting of old Heroic Ballads, Songs/ 
&c, the first edition of which was published in the year 1755. Until the ap- 
pearance of this work, the ballad lore of Britain may be said to have been all 
but unknown and unexplored. The main source from which Dr. Percy 
derived his collection was a long narrow folio manuscript, in his own posses- 
sion, which had been written about the middle of the previous century, but 
which contained compositions of various ages from before the times of Chaucer 
downwards. So little was the literary public prepared for the contents of the 
collection, that the existence or fidelity of the MS. was questioned, and the 
Editor denounced as a literary impostor. But the existence of the MS. was 
proved on the most undoubted authority, it being submitted to the inspection 
of Shenstonp, Dr. Johnson,* and afterwards of those eminent commentators on 



* Dr. Johnson was a personal friend of Dr. Percy, and recommended the publication of the 
' Reliques;* but, it is well known, he had a great contempt for ballad verses, protesting they 
night be manufactured by the yard, without premeditation, — thus: 



• I put my hat upon my head, 
And walked into the Strand, 

And there I met another man 
With his hat into his hand." 




Or, ' The tender infant, meek and mild, 
Fell down upon a stone ; 
The nurse took up the squalling child, 
But still the child squall'd on.' 






Shakspeare, Dr. Farmer, Steevens, Malone, and Reed. The MS. was mutilated 
in various parts, and imperfectly penned in others, so that the Editor was induced 
to follow his own taste in many instances, by supplying deficiencies, and altering 
and amending defective passages. This laid him open especially to the violent 
reprehension of Ritson, an acute critic, and one of the severest exact 
literal fidelity in matters antiquarian. But Percy has since been justified by 
eminent poets and scholars (among the rest, by Sir Walter Scott and William 
Motherwell, both jealous warders of the strongholds of antiquity,) on the 
ground, that he did not conceal having altered or amended some of the pieces, 
where he thought necessary, his object being not to gratify the mere anti- 
', but to attract in the first place the popular taste to the hidden and 
neglected treasures of ancient song. In tins particular, he eminently suc- 
ceeded, a circumstance sufficiently indicated by the number of editions through 
wliich the e Reliques' passed, * and by the influence which they manifestly had 
on the" poetical literature of the succeeding age. f 

The Percy ' Reliques' contained, beside the English pieces, some of our very 
best Scottish Ballads, which were there printed for the first time in a collected 
form. These are duly specified in the course of this Work. 

For some years before and after Percy's collection appeared, the Foul 
celebrated printers in Glasgow, issued from their press, under, we believe, the 

Dr. Johnson, while he thus raised the laugh over the extreme simplicity of the baila : 
probably little dreamt that his own turgid and artificial style was much more obnoxious 
ridicule. 

* In the edition before us, (the fifth,) occurs a Dedication, which we are tempted to c: 
one of the most beautiful and affecting which we have ever read : — ' To Elizabeth, late 
Duchess and Countess of Northumberland, in her own right Baroness Percy, &c, who. 
being sole heiress to many great families of our ancient nobility, employed the princely fortune, 
and sustained the illustrious honours, which she derived from them, through her whole life . 
with the greatest dignity, generosity, and spirit ; and who for her many public and private 
virtues will ever be remembered as one of the first characters of her time, this little work 
was originally dedicated : — And, as it sometimes afforded her amusement, and was I 
distinguished by her indulgent approbation, it is now, with the utmost regard, respect, and graU* 
tude, consecrated to her beloved and honoured Memory.' 

f Sir Walter Scott has, in more than one place, recorded the influence which the perusal oi 
Percy's 'Reliques' had on his young mind. 'The tree,' he says, 'is still in my recollection, 
beneath which I lay, and first entered upon the enchanting perusal of Percy's Reliques at 
English Poetry.' 









:■ 



m 



superintendency of Lord Hailes, splendid copies, in small 4to size, large type, 
of various Scottish ballads. These, however, were all separate publications, 
though they may be in some instances found bound together. 

In 1769, Herd's collection appeared. Of this work we have spoken in the 
Introduction to the Book of Scottish Song. It may be enough here to say, 
that it contains no less than twenty ballads or fragments of ballads there first 
collected. 

In 1777, the first edition of Evans's collection of Old Ballads was published 
at London. These are almost altogether English, with a few Scottish, of 
which we have availed ourselves. The best edition of Evans is that of 1810, 
4 vols., edited by his son. 

John Pinkerton, the historian, published in 1781 and 1783 collections of 
Scottish Ballads, several of which ballads were fabrications of his own, a crime 
bitterly exposed by Ritson, whose own various compilations, issued shortly 
after this time, were of essential service in illustrating the ballad lore both of 
England and Scotland. 

A Collection of Scottish Ballads,' in 6 thin vols., was published by the 
Morisons of Perth, in 1790, but it contains none not previously published 
elsewhere. 

In the beginning of the present century, the ballad literature of the country 
received two of its most important additions, by the publication of Scott's 
'Border Minstrelsy,' (1802,) and Jamieson's * Popular Ballads and Songs/ 
(1806.) The first edition of the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border was printed 
at Kelso, by Ballantyne, in two volumes. A third volume was added in 1803 ; 
and the work was further augmented in subsequent editions. ' Fortunate it 
was/ says Motherwell, « for the heroic and legendary song of Scotland that 
tins work was undertaken, and still more fortunate that its execution devolved 
upon one so well qualified in every respect to do its subject the most ample 
justice. Long will it live a noble and interesting monument of the unwearied 
research, curious and minute learning, genius and taste of its illustrious editor. 
It is truly a patriotic legacy to posterity ; and much as it may now be esteemed, 
it is only in times yet gathering in the bosom of far futurity, when the inte- 
resting traditions, the chivalrous and romantic legends, the wild superstitions, 
the tragic song of Scotland, have wholly faded from the living memory, that 
this gift can be duly appreciated. It is then that these volumes will be 












conned with feelings akin to religious enthusiasm — that their strange and 
mystic lore will be treasured up in the heart as the precious record of days for 
ever passed away — that their grand stern legends will be listened to with 
reverential awe as if the voice of a remote ancestor, from the depths of the 
tomb, had woke the thrilling strains of martial antiquity.' 

Mr. Jamieson's work was projected and mostly collected before the Border 
Minstrelsy appeared ; but its publication was deferred till 1806, when it issued 
from the Ballantyne press in two octavo volumes, under the title of ■ Popular 
Ballads and Songs, from tradition, manuscripts, and scarce editions, with transla- 
tions of similar pieces from the ancient Danish language, by Robert Jamieson.* 
This collection is one of great value, and is ably illustrated. Much of Mr. 
Jamieson's materials was obtained from the same source to which Scott was 
largely indebted in collecting his Border Minstrelsy, namely, Mrs. Brown of 
Falkland, a lady who was remarkable for the extent of her legendary lore, 
and the accuracy of her memory. 

In 1808, a small collection of { Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads' 
appeared, edited by John Finlay of Glasgow. This collection added little 
to our store of legendary poetry, but it is valuable for its annotations, and it 
also contains several successful imitations of the ancient ballad. 

Since the above period, the most successful collectors and able illustrators 
of the legendary ballads of Scotland have been, Mr. William Motherwell, 
Mr. David Laixg, Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Mr. James Maid- 
mest, Mr. Kinloch, and Mr. Peter Buchan. 

Of the lamented Motherwell, as a deeply-versed scholar in the poetical an- 
tiquities of his country, it would be difficult to speak too highly. From boy- 
hood, black-letter lore was his passion, and in particular he studied with en- 
thusiasm the works of the Old Scottish ' Makkaris/ A lyrical poet himself, 
too, of the most exquisite pathos, few were better qualified than he was, 
either by learning or genius, to explore the field of Ancient Historic and 
Romantic Scottish Song, or to pick up in untrodden ways its wild-flowers. 
His collection, accordingly,* is one of the most valuable of which our balla 1 



* * Minstrelsy, ancient and modern, with an Historical Introduction and Xotes, Glasgow, 
1337/ 4to. 




literature can boast : — not that it has added largely to the stock of already 
collected ballads, (for in that particular it can only claim somewhere about a 
dozen, exclusive of different versions of known ballads,) but that its Introduc- 
tion and Notes are fraught with information and ingenuity, which illustrate 
in the pleasantest manner the subjects they treat, and which prove at once 
the research of the antiquary and the spirit of the poet. The Introduction, 
especially, may be recommended as a text-book to every tyro in ballad 
literature. 

The labours of Mr. David Laing, as an illustrator of the ancient lyrical muse 
of Scotland, and indeed of ancient Scottish literature generally, have been inesti- 
mable ; and although the ballad poetry of the country has only formed an in- 
cidental portion of his researches, still very much is due to him in that depart- 
ment, both as commentator and collector. 

Mr. C. K. Sharpe's name has been long familiar to the antiquarian world 
for his curious researches in all matters connected with the traditions and 
manners of by-gone times. In 1824, he printed a tiny volume, entitled, ' A 
Ballad Book,' which, though small in size, contained several ballads collected 
for ttie first time, besides giving new readings of others. 

Similar in size to the, 'Ballad Book,' and published in the same year, was 
the ' North Countrie Garland,' edited, anonymously, by Mr. James Maidment. 
This little book contains about half-a-dozen ballads not ^previously collected. 
To the same editor, we believe, we are indebted for another small volume, en- 
titled, 'A New Book of Old Ballads,' printed at Edinburgh in 1844. In this 
collection are given the genuine versions of several old ballads, or rather songs, 
which. Allan Ramsay and others had copied imperfectly or materially altered. 
Very limited impressions of Mr. Sharpe's and Mr. Maidment's collections were 
thrown off. 

In 1827, Mr. Kinloch published, anonymously, an octavo volume, entitled, 
' Ancient Scottish Ballads, recovered from tradition, and never before pub- 
lished, with Notes, and an Appendix, containing the Airs of several of the 
Ballads.' This collection is edited with judgment. The recovered ballads 
chiefly belong to the north'of Scotland. 

' Gleanings of Scotch, English, and Irish scarce Old Ballads' is the title of an 
humble little volume printed at Peterhead, in the far north, in the year 1825, 
which only claims notice as the precursor of Mr. Peter Buchan's great collec- 







PREFACE. 







tion, printed at Edinburgh in 1328, 2 vols. 8vo, and entitled, ' Ancient Ballads 
and Songs of the North of Scotland, hitherto unpublished, with explanatory 
Notes.' This work presents to the public a larger array of old ballads and 
scraps of ballads, not to be found elsewhere, than any other collection we 
could name. Mr. Buchan, indeed, has been by far the most successful ballad- r 
hunter that ever entered the field, and his success is to be attributed partly to k 
his own unwearied researches, and partly to the district which he explored — - 
a district (Aberdeenshire and Banffshire) comparatively fresh and untrod by (ZjJ 
ballad gatherers. Sir Walter Scott characterizes Mr. Buchan's collection, not > 
only as ' the most complete of the kind which has appeared/ but as ' decidedly 
and undubitably original;' and we understand it was his intention to have 
given *is valuable assistance and name to an improved edition of the work, 
had not disease overtaken him, and the finger of death hushed his worn 
mto repose. 

We have now adverted to the more important of our ballad collections. 
The object of the present Work was to give, in a single volume, the whole of 
our Scottish Ballads that merit attention either from intrinsic excellence, or 
as illustrative of the history, manners, and feelings of olden times. Tin's has 
not been previously done, for notwithstanding the value of many of the above 
collections, none of them affect to be so comprehensive in their range, but are 
limited to certain districts, or to the individual researches of their respective 
editors. The size of the type and form of page adopted in the present little " 
book have given the amplest scope for carrying out the design of the publica- 
lsomuch that, small as the volume is, it contains, as one of its items, the 
lb (with some slight exceptions) of Sir Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the 
ish Border, published in three octavo volumes, including his long and 
valuable Dissertations on the History and Manners of the Scottish Borderers, 
on the FairyMythology, and on the Great Civil Wars of the Seventeenth f 
Century. The copyright of the Ministrelsy of the Scottish Border has ex- 
pired ; and in the case of the more recent collection?, the publishers had the 
pleasure of securing the sanction of Mr. Jamieson, of Mr. Motherwell's latest 
publishers, and of Mr. Peter Buchan, to select from the respective works of 
these gentlemen what seemed most appropriate to the present publication, 
c^pecifvinff. of course, in all cases, the source whence each ballad was dra\vv> 


















and illustrating each, where necessary, by note or commentary. The 
Book of Scottish Ballads has thus the advantage of being the first to 
lay before the public, in a cheap form, the Border Minstrelsy of Scott, and the 
selected minstrelsy of those who preceded and followed him in his labours in 
this department of literature. The selection is confined to Scottish ballads, 
ballads on Scottish subjects, or, in one or two cases, Scottish versions of 
English ballads ; and this the reader is requested to keep in mind, lest he might 
be apt to miss some favourite piece which does not come under either of the 
above categories. In a book designed for popular use, it is also to be remem- 
bered, that a number of ballads are necessarily excluded on account of their 
coarseness or indelicacy ; but it is satisfactory to know, that the exclusions 
have been made at no great sacrifice, as ballads bearing such exceptions are 
generally of inferior merit otherwise. 

Besides the ancient minstrelsy of the country, The Book op Scottish 
Ballads embraces specimens of the best modern imitations of the olden bal- 
lad, so that some of the masterly productions of Sir Walter Scott, the Ettrick 
Shepherd, and others who have successfully cultivated this branch of litera- 
ture, find a place in its pages. 

The Book of Scottish Ballads was designed as an accompanying 
volume to The Book of Scottish Song, recently published. Before its 
projection, two or three ballad-songs were inserted in the latter work, — viz. 
Barbara Allan, Captain Wedderburn, Gilderoy, and The House of Airly. 
These are not repeated in the Ballad Book. In other respects, the two works 
are independent of each other, and complete in themselves, — though, it is pre- 
sumed, most readers will be inclined to range them together as appropriate 
companion volumes, inasmuch as they are similar in size and typography, and 
both aim at a similar object, that of embodying and illustrating, under the 
separate classes of Ballad and Song, the ancient and modern lyric literature 
of Scotland. 



m 



Me 








The Lass of Lochryan, . 
Fair Annie of Lochryan, two Versions, 3 
The Gay Goss-Hawk, ... 5 

The Jolly Goss-Hawk, ... 7 

Sir Patrick Spens, two Versions, . . 9 

Lady Clare, .... 12 

Earl Richard's Daughter, . . .13 
The Bonnie Earl of Murray, two Versions, 16 

Young Waters, .... 17 

Sir Arthur and Lady Anne, . 18 

Fair Annet, .... 19 

Sweet Willie and Fair Annie, . . 20 

Lord Beichan, . 23 j 

Young Bekie, . . • • 25 ; 

May Colvin, two Versions, . . 27 ; 

The Jew's Daughter, . . . 30 j 

The Martyr, . . . . 33 1 

Glasgow Peggy, . . . .34 

The Keach V the Creel, . . . 35 ! 

The Angel Stars, . . . .36 

The Drowned Lovers, ... 38 

Sir James the Rose, two Versions, . 39 j 

The Mermaid of Galloway, . . 43 

Fause Foodrage, . . . . 46 ! 

Bonnie Lizie Lindsay, . . . 49 ' 

Lizzie Lindsay, . . . . 51 ! 

Sir Roland, 52 , 

Annan Water, . . . .53 

Lady Margaret, . . . . 55 

Glenlogie, tnio Versions, . . 57 « 



Glenfinlas, .... 

Young Peggy, 

Katherine Janfarie, 

Catherine Johnstone, . 

Lochinvar, .... 

Lady Jean, 

The Gardener, 

Clerk Saunders, two Versions, 

Sweet Willie and Lady Margerie, 

Sweet William and May Margaret 

Sweet William's Ghost, . 

William and Marjorie, 

Fair Margaret and Sweet William. 

William and Margaret, 

Watty and Madge, 

The Heir of Linne, . 

Athol Wood, 

The twa Martyrs' Widows, . 

Christie's Will, 

The Master of Weemys, 

The Marmaiden of Clyde, 

Jock Johnstone the Tinkler, 

Bonnie Bahy Livingstone, 

The Prophecy of Queen Emma, 

Polydore, . 

The Lady and her Page, 

Lord John's Murder, 

The Duke of Athole's Nurse, 

The Cruel Brother, 

The Laird of Ochiltrie, 



Pa?e. 

06 






^^P^&xT^ 



2§ 



81 



100 
102 
104 
105 
106 
107 




^J^p< 












The Laird of Logie, 




108 


Edom o' Gordon, 




. 110 


The Dzemon-Lover, 




112 


Gil Morice, 




. 113 


Chield Morice, 




117 


Childe Maurice, 




. 120 


Child Noryce, 




122 


Helenore, . 




123 


King Malcom and Sir Colvin, 


123 


Young Aikin, . 




125 


Rose the Red and White 


Lilly, two 




Versions, 




127 


The Wedding of Robin 


Hoed and 




Little John, 




133 


Hynd Horn, 




134 


Laird of Drum, 




136 


The Battle of Harlaw, . 






The King's Daughter, 




140 


Earl Richard, 


142 


Lord William, . 




143 


Reedisdale and Wise William, 


144 


Thomas o' Yonderdale, 


. 


116 


Earl Crawford, 




147 


John Thomson and the Turk, 


149 


Earl Lindsaye, 




151 


The Orphan Maid, 




156 


Through the Wood, 




156 


The twa Brothers, 




157 


The twa Magicians, 




159 


The Parted Lovers, 




159 


Lord Ronald, 




160 


Proud Lady Margaret, 




161 


The Courteous Knight, 




162 


Sir Hugh le Blond, . 




163 


The Millar's Son, 




167 


Bondsey and Maisry, 




169 


Chil Ether, 




170 


Lord Thomas Stuart, 




171 


Sir Maurice, 




171 


The Earl of Douglas and Dame Oliphant, 175 


The Laird o' Meldrum and 


Peggy Dou- 




glas, 




177 


The Wife of Usher's Well, 


. 


177 05 



Burd Helen, . . . 

Queen Eleanor's Confession, 

Lord Lovel, . 

Lord Lovat, 

Lady Elspat, 

The Earl of Mar's Daughter, 

Lady Jane, . . . 

The Bent sae Brown, 

Rosrner Hafmand, 

Marchioness of Doug 'as, 

Jellon Grame, 

Lady Anne, 

Erlinton, 

Young Benjie, 

The Curse of Moy, 

Hardyknute, . . . 

The Duel of Wharton and Stuart, 

Lady Maisry, 

Glenkindie, 

The Murder of Caerlaveroc, 

The Fause Lover, 

Blancheflour and Jellyflorice, 

James Hemes, 

Cadyow Castle, 

Willie's Drowned in Gamery, 

Lord Barnaby, . 

The Clerk's twa Sons o' Owsenford, 

The Gude Wallace, two Versions, 

Lord Randal, 

Lord Donald, 

Lammikin,jf?re Versions, 

Burning of Auchindoun, two Version, 

The Warlock of Aikwood, 

Black Agnace of Dunbar, 

Duncan, a Fragment, 

Memorables of the Montgomeries, 

Highland Legend, 

The Young Johnstone, 

TheDowyDen, . 

The Cruel Sister, 

The Queen's Marie, 

Mary Hamilton, . . 

Andrew Lammie, . . 



178 
181 
183 



1S8 
189 
191 
193 
196 
197 
198 
139 
201 
205 
210 
214 
216 
218 



224 
229 
230 
231 
233 
238 
239 
2-41 
,248 
249 
252 
253 
254 
256 
257 
259 
260 
261 
263 
265 






V 






' Johnie Faa^ 
The Fire of Frendraught, 
Frennet Hall, 
The Gray Brother, 
The Blaeberries, 
Lochaber no more, 
Earl Eichard, 

Allan-a-Maut, two Versions, 
John Barleycorn, . 

Brown Adam, . 

Lord Spynie, 
Edward, Edward, 
Son Davie, Son Davie, . 



CONTENTS. 
Fag-e.<^ 



The Broom of Cowdenknows, 


Paee 
288 


Sir Niel and Mac Van, 


289 


Lizie Baillie, .... 


290 


The Laird of Waristoun, 


291 


The Weary Coble o' Cargill, 


293 


Bonnie Susie Cleland, . . 


294 


Baby Lon, or the Bonnie Banks o 




Fordie, 


295 


Prince Robert, . 


206 


Earl Robert, .... 


297 


Saint twin's Pilgrim, 


298 


The Battle of Luncarty, 


300 


Sir Gilbert Hamilton, 


303 



II. 



BORDER BALLADS. 



Introduction, 

The Battle of Otterbourne, 

The Outlaw Murray, 

Johnie Armstrang, 

Johnnie Armstrong's last Goodnight, 

Armstrong's Goodnight, . . 

The Lochmaben Harper, . 

James Telfer of the Fair Dodhead, 

The Raid of the Reidswire, . 

Kinmont "Willie, ... 

Dick o' the Cow, .... 

Jock o' the Side, . 

Hoble Nobbie, .... 

Rookhope Ryde, . 

Archie of Ca'field, 

Death of Featherstonhaugh, 



Pa-p.4 



305 


j Lord Maxwell's Goodnight, 


389 


344 


•The Lads of "Wamphray, 


392 


349 


i Barthram's Dirge, . 


394 


355 


! The Fray of Suport, . 


394 


3-38 


Auld Maitland, .... 


397 


360 


Lord Ewrie, .... 


404 


360 


Johnie of Breadislee, 


405 


362 


Johnie of Braidisbank, 


407 


365 


Archie Armstrang 's Aith, 


407 


370 


Lament of the Border Widow, 


409 


374 


Hughie the Grseme, . . 


410 


379 


Hughie Graham, 


411 


381 


The Laird of Lairistan, or the Three 




384 


Champions of Liddisdale, 


412 


387 


The Tweeddale Raide, 


415 



:5l2^fe 










III. 



BALLADS CONNECTED WITH FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



&, 



m 



Introduction, 

The Young Tamlane, 

Tom Linn, 

The Gloamyne Buchte, 

Alison Gross, 

The Wee Wee Man, 

The Elfin Knicht, 

The Fairy Knight, . 

Sir Oluf, and the Elf King's 

Elfer Hill, 

Sir Alan Mortimer, 

Thomas the Rhymer, 



Daughter, 



Pasre. A 




Pa?e 


419 


Lyttil Pynkie, . . , 


. 478 


449 


The Witch of Fife, 


483 


453 


Lord Soulis, 


. 487 


. 454 


The Cout of Keeldar, 


492 


461 


The Spirit of the Glen, . 


. 497 


462 


The Last Fairy, 


501 


463 


The Brownie of Fearnden, 


. 502 


. 464 


The Tane-away, 


503 


465 


Water Kelpie, 


. 503 


. 466 


The Maid and Fairy, . 


506 


467 


May of the Moril Glen, . 


. 507 


• 4»J 


p Kilnieny, .... 


511 



IV. 



BALLADS RELATING TO THE GREAT CIVIL WARS OF THE 
SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 



Ifm, 



Introduction, 
The Battle of Philiphaugh, 
The Gallant Grahams, 
Battle of Pentland Hills, , 
The Battle of Loudon -Hill, 



Paee ^ 



Battle of Bothwell-Bridge, . 
Bothwell Brigg, ... .544 
The Haughs of Cromdale, . . 546 
Auchindoun, .... 548 



Pase. 



^■;--/;W 




APPENDIX. 



The Raid of Glen Fruin, . . 549 

Lady Jean, 551 

Girtlee, or, the Hap of Hind Halbert, 553 

Cumnor Hall, .... 554 

The Battle of Corichie, . . .255 

The Duke of Athol, ... 256 

Sir George Maxwell, . . . 557 

Knockespock's Lady, . . . 559 { 



The Greetin' Bairn, ... 560 
The Witch o- Pittenweem, . . 561 
Bishop Thurstan, and the king of Scot3, 563 
The Duke of Gordon's three Daughters, 565 
Geordie, trvo Versions, . . 567 

Young Randal, . . . .568 
Archy o' Kilspindie, . . . 569 
The Birtwhistle Wicht, . . .573 






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[The beautiful and pathetic ballad called 
" The Lass of Lochryan," or " Fair Annie of 
Lochryan," was first published in an imperfect 
state in Herd's Collection, and afterwards in a 
more complete form in Scott's Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border. Another version of the same 
ballad was given in Jamieson's Popular Ballads 
and Songs, (1806). As the versions of Scott and 
Jamieson differ considerably from each other, 
and possess respectively beauties of their own, 
we here quote both sets, placing Scott's first. It 
will be recollected tbat Dr Wolcot (the well 
known Peter Pindar) and Burns wrote each a 
song for Thomson's Collection called "Lord 
Gregory," founded on the subject of the pre- 
sent ballad. Lochryan is a fine bay or 1< ch, 
which projects from the Irish channel into Wig- 
tonshire or Galloway.] 

" O wha will shoe my bonnie foot ? 

And wha will glove my hand ? 
And wha will lace my middle jimp 

Wi' a lang, lang linen band ? 

" wha will kame my yellow hair 
With a new-made silver kame ? 

And wha will father my young son 
Till lord Gregory come hame ?" 

" Thy father will shoe thy bonnie foot, 
Thy mother will glove thy hand, 

Thy sister will lace thy middle jimp, 
Till lord Gregory come to land. 

" Thy brother will kame thy yellow hair 
With a new-made silver kame, 

And God will be thy bairns father 
Till lord Gregory come hame." 



" But I will get a bonnie boat, 

And 1 will sail the sea ; 
And I will gang to lord Gregory, 

Since he canna come hame to me." 

Syne she's gar'd build a bonnie boat, 

To sail the salt, salt sea : 
The sails were o' the light green silk, 

The tows o' taffety. 

She hadna sailed but twenty leagues, 
But twenty leagues and three, 

When she met wi' a rank robber, 
And a' his company. 

" Now whether are ye the queen herscl!. 

(For so ye weel might be) 
Or are ye the lass of Lochryan, 

Seekin' lord Gregory ?" 

"01 am neither the queen," she said, 

'* Nor sic I seem to be ; 
But 1 am the lass of Lochryan, 

Seekin' lord Gregory." 

" O see na thou yon bonnie bower, 

It's a' covered o'er wi' tin ? 
When thou hast sailed it round about, 

Lord Gregory is within." 

And when she saw the stately tower 

Shining sae clear and bright, 
Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave, 

Built on a rock of height'; 

Says — " Eow the boat, my mariners, 

And bring me to the land .' 
For yonder I see my love's castle 

Close by the salt-sea strand." 

She sailed it round, and sailed it round, 

And loud, loud cried she — 
" Now break, now break, ye fairy charms, 

And set my true love free •" 



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She's ta'en her young son in her arms, ( 

And flb the door she's gane ; 
And long she knocked, and sair she ca'd, 

But answer got she nane. 

" O open the door, lord Gregory ! 

O open, and let me in ! 
For the wind biaws through my yellow hair, 

And the rain draps o'er my chin." 

" Awa, awa, ye ill woman ! 

Ye're no come here for good ! 
Ye're but some witch or wil warlock, 

Or mermaid o' the flood." 

*' I am neither witch, nor wil warlock, 

Nor mermaid o' the sea ; 
But I am Annie of Lochryan; 

O open the door to me i" 

" Gin thou be Annie of Lochryan, 

(As I trow thou binna she) 
Now tell me some of the love tokens 

That past between thee and me." 

« O dinna ye mind, lord Gregory, 

As we sat at the wine, 
We changed the rings frae our fingers, 

And I can show thee thine ? 

** yours was gude, and gude enough, 

But aye the best was mine ; 
For yours was o' the gude red gowd, 

But mine o' the diamond fine. 

" Now open the door, lord Gregory ! 

Open the door, I pray! 
For thy young son is in my arms, 

And will be dead ere day." 

" If thou be the lass of Lochryan, 

(As I kenna thou be) 
Tell me some mair o' the love tokens 

Past between me and thee." 

Fair Annie turned her round about — 

" Weel ! since that it be sae, 
May never a woman, that has borne a son, 

Ha'e a heart sae fou o' wae ! 

" Take down, take down, that mast o' gowd ! 

Set up a mast o : tree ! 
It disna become a forsaken lady 

To sail sae royallie." 



When the cock had crawn, and the day d:A 
And the sun began to peep, [dawn, 

Then up and raise him lord Gregory, 
And sair, sair did he weep. 

" Oh I ha ! e dreamed a dream, mother, 

I wish it may prove true ! 
That the bonnie lass of Lochryan 

Was at the yate e'en now. 

"01 ha'e dreamed a dream, mother, 
The thought o't gars me greet! 

That fair Annie o* Lochryan 
Lay cauld dead at my feet." 

" Gin it be for Annie of Lochryan 

That ye make a' this din, 
She stood a' last night at your door, 

But I trow she wan na in." 

'* O wae betide ye, ill woman ! 

An ill deid may ye die ! 
That wadna open the door to her, 

Nor yet wad wauken me." 

O he's gane down to yon shore side 

As fast as he could fare ; 
He saw fair Annie in the boat, 

But the wind it tossed her sair. 

" And hey, Annie, and how, Annie! 

O Annie, winna ye bide !" 
But aye the mair he cried Annie, 

The braider grew the tide. 

" And hey, Annie, and how, Annie ! 

Dear Annie, speak to me !" 
But aye the louder he cried Annie, 

The louder roared the sea. 

The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough, 
And dashed the boat on shore ; 

Fair Annie floated through the faem, 
But the babie raise no more. 

Lord Gregory tore his yellow hair, 

And made a heavy moan ; 
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet, 

Her bonnie young son was gone. 

cherry, cherry was her cheek, 

And gowden was her hair ; 
But clay-cold were her rosy lips— 

Nae spark o' life was there. 




And first he kissed her cherry cheek, 
And syne he kissed her chin, 

And syne he kissed her rosy lips — 
There was nae breath within. 

* O wae betide my cruel mother ! 

An Dl death may she dee ! 
She turned my true love frae my door, 

Wha came sae far to me. 

" wae betide my cruel mother ! 

An ill death may she dee ! 
She turned fair Annie frae my door, 

"Wha died for love o' me." 



FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHRYAN. 

[Jamieson's version. Mr Jamieson says, that 
he frequently, when a boy, heard the following 
set of the ballad chanted in Morayshire.] 

" O wha will shoe my fair foot, 

And wha will glove my han' ? 
And wha will lace my middle jimp 

Wi' a new-made London ban' ? 

" Or wha will kemb my yellow hair 

Wi' a new-made silver kemb ? 
Or wha'll be father to my young bairn, 

Till love Gregor come hame ?" 

*' Your father '11 shoe your fair foot, 
Your mother glove your han' ; 

Your sister lace your middle jimp 
Wi' a new-made London ban' ; 

'' Your brethren will kemb your yellow hair 

Wi' a new-made silver kemb ; 
A.nd the King o' Heaven will father your 

Till love Gregor come hame." [bairn 

s< gin I had a bonnie ship, 

And men to sail wi' me, 
It's I wad gang to my true love, 

Sin' he winna come to me !" 

Her father 's gi'en her a bonnie ship, 

A nd sent her to the stran' ; 
She's ta'en her young son in her arms, 

And turn'd her back to the Ian'. 



She hadna been o' the sea saiiin' 

About a month or more, 
Till landed has she her bonnie ship 

Near her true -lover's door. 

The nicht was dark, and the wind blew 
And her love was fast asleep, [caiu, 

And the bairn that was in her twa arms, 
Fu' sair began to greet. 

Lang stood she at her true-love's door, 

And lang tirl'd at the pin ; 
At length up gat his fause mother, 

Says, " Wha's that wad be in ?" 

" 0, it is Annie of Lochryan, 

Your love, come o'er the sea, 
But and your young son in her arms; 

So open the door to me." 

" Avva, awa, ye ill woman, 

You're nae come here for gude ; 
You're but a witch, or a vile warlock 

Or a mermaid o' the flude." 

•' I'm nae a witch or vile warlock, 

Or mermaiden," said she , — 
" I'm but your Annie of Lochryan; 

open the door tome!" 

" gin ye be Annie of Lochryan, 

As I trust not ye be, 
What taiken can ye gi'e that e'er 

1 kept your companie ?" 

" dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says, 

" Whan we sat at the wine, 
How we changed the napkins frae our necks. 

It's nae sae lang sinsyne T 

" And yours was gude, and gude enough, 

But nae sae gude as mine ; 
For yours was o' the cambric clear, 

But mineo' the silk sae fine. 

" And dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she /t=^j 

" As we tw a sat at dine, [says, jT i r^ J 

How we chang'd the rings frae our fingers, \JIT1e 

And I can show thee thine : fy^ J 

" And yours was gude, and gude enough; /T/\\ 

Yet nae sae gude as mine ; 

For yours was o' the gude red gold, %..■=-- / 

But mine o' the diamonds fine. ^^d 



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" Sae open the door, now, love Gregor, 

And open it wi' speed ; 
Or your young son, that is in my arms, 

For cauld will soon be dead." 

" Awa, awa, ye ill woman ; 

Gae frae my door for shame, 
For I ha'e gotten an'ther fair love, 

Sae ye may hie you hame." 

" O ha'e ye gotten anither fair love, 

For a' the oaths ye sware ? 
Then fare ye weel, now, fause Gregor, 

For me ye's never see mair!" 

O, hooly, hooly gaed she back 

As the day began to peep ; 
She set her foot on good ship board, 

And sair, sair did she weep. 

" Tak' down, tak' down the mast o' goud, 

Set up the mast o' tree; 
111 sets it a forsaken lady 

To sail sae gallantlie. 

" Tak' down, tak' down the sails o' silk, 

Set up the sails o' skin ; 
111 sets the outside to be gay. 

Whan there's sic grief within !" 

Love Gregor started frae his sleep, 

And to his mother did say, 
" I dreamt a dream this night, mither, 

That mak's my heart richt wae ; 

" I dreamt that Annie of Lochryan, 

The flower o' a' her kin, 
Was standin' mournin' at my door, 

But nane wad let her in." 

" O there was a woman stood at the door, 

Wi' a bairn intill her arms ; 
But I wadna let her within the bower, 

For fear she had done you harm." 

quickly, quickly raise he up, 

And fast ran to the strand ; 
And there he saw her, fair Annie, 

Was sailing frae the land. 

A.nd " heigh, Annie," and " how, Annie! 

O, Annie, winna ye bide ?" 
But aye the louder he cried " Annie," 

The higher rair'd the tide. 



And "heigh, Annie !" and "how, Annie I 

O, Annie, speak to me !" 
But aye the louder he cried " Annie," 

The louder rair'd the sea. 



The wind grew loud, the sea grew r 
And the ship was rent in twain ; 

And soon he saw her, fair Annie, 
Come floating o'er the main. 

He saw his young son in her arms, 
Baith tcss'd aboon the tide ; 

He wrang his hands, and fast he ran 
And plung'd in the sea sae wide. 

He catch 'd her by the yellow hair, 
And drew her to the strand ; 

But cauld and stiff was every limb, 
Before he reach'd the land. 

O first he kiss'd her cherry cheek, 
And syne he kiss'd her chin, 

And sair he kiss'd her ruby lips ; 
But there was nae breath within. 

O he has mourn'd o'er fair Annie, 
Till the sun was ganging down , 

Syne wi' a sich his heart it brast, 
And his saul tc heaven has flown. 



FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHRYAN. 

[In Allan Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, 
we have this set of " Fair Annie of Lochryan." 
We quote it as curiously illustrative of the liber« 
ties which "honest Allan" took with the songs 
and ballads of his country.] 

Sweet Annie built a bonnie ship, 

And set her on the sea ; 
The sails were a' of the damask'd silk, 

The masts of silver free. 
The gladsome waters sung below, 

And the sweet wind sung above — 
Make way for Annie of Lochryan, 

She comes to seek her love. 

A gentle wind came with a sweep, 
And stretched her silken 9ail, 

When up there came a reaver rude, 
With many a shout and hail : 



-ugh, 



touch her not, my mariners a', 
Such loveliness goes free ; 

Make way for Annie of Lochryan, 
She seeks Lord Gregorie. 

The moon look'd out with all her stars, 

The ship moved merrily on, 
Until she came to a castle high, 

That all as diamonds shone : 
On every tower there streamed a light, 

On the middle tower shone three — 
Move for that tower my mariners a', 

My love keeps watch for me. 

She took her young son in her arms, 

And on the deck she stood — 
The wind rose with an angry gust, 

The sea wave wakened rude. 
Oh open the door, Lord Gregory, love, 

Oh open and let me in ; 
The sea foam hangs in my yellow hair, 

The surge dreeps down my chin. 

All for thy sake, Lord Gregory, love, 

I've sailed a perilous way, 
And thy fair son is 'tween my breasts, 

And he'll be dead ere day. 
The foam hangs on the topmast cliff, 

The fires run on the sky, 
And hear ye not your true love's voice, 

And her sweet baby's cry ? 

Fair Annie turned her round about, 

And tears began to flow — 
May never a baby suck a breast 

Wi' a heart sae fou of woe. 
Take down, take down that silver mast, 

Set up a mast of tree, 
1 1 does nae become a forsaken dame 

To sail sae royallie. 

Oh read my dream, my mother dear — 

I heard a sweet babe greet, 
And saw fair Annie of Lochryan 

Lie cauld dead at my feet. 
And loud and loud his mother laughed— 

Oh sight 's mair sure than sleep, 

1 saw fair Annie, and heard her voice, 

And her baby wail and weep. 

O he went down to yon sea side 

As fast as he could fare, 
He saw fair Annie and her sweet babe, 

But the wild wind tossed them sair • 



And hey Annie, and how Annie, 

And Annie winna ye bide ? 
But aye the mair he called Annie, 

The broader grew the tide. 

And hey Annie, and how Annie, 

Dear Annie speak to me, 
But aye the louder he cried Annie, 

The louder roared the sea. 
The wind waxed loud, the sea grew rough, 

The ship sunk nigh the shore, 
Fair Annie floated through the foam, 

But the baby rose no more. 

Oh first he kiss'd her cherry cheek, 

And then he kiss'd her chin, 
And syne he kiss'd her rosie lips, 

But there was nae breath within. 
Oh my love's love was true as light, 

As meek and sweet was she — 
My mother's hate was strong as death, 

And fiercer than the sea. 



®;Je ©an ffio^=5@abi. 



[Fikst published in Scott's Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border.] 

" wait, waly, my gay goss-hawk, 
Gin your feathering be sheen !" 

'* And waly, waly, my master dear, 
Gin ye look pale and lean ! 

" have ye tint, at tournament, 
Tour sword, or yet your spear? 

Or mourn ye for the Southern lass, 
Whom you may not win near ?' 

" I have not tint, at tournament, 
My sword, nor yet my spear ; 

But sair I mourn for my true love, 
Wi' mony a bitter tear. 

" But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk, 

Ye can baith speak and flee; 
Ye sail carry a letter to my love, 

Bring an answer back to me," 



" But how sail I your true love find, 

Or how suld I her know ? 
I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake, 

An eye that ne'er her saw." 

" O weel sail ye my true love ken, 

Sae sune as ye her see ; 
For, of a' the flowers of fair England, 

The fairest flower is she. 

" The red, that's on my true love's cheik, 
Is like blood drops on the snaw ; 

The white, that is on her breast bare, 
Like the down o' the white sea-maw. 

" And even at my love's bour door 

There grows a flowering birk; 
And ye maun sit and sing thereon 

As she gangs to the kirk. 

" And four-and-twenty fair ladyes 

"Will to the mass repair ; 
But well may ye my ladye ken, 

The fairest ladye there." 

Lord William has written a love letter, 

Put it under his pinion gray ; 
And he is awa' to Southern land 

As fast as wings can gae. 

And even at that ladye's bour 

There grew a flowering birk ; 
And he sat down and sung thereon 

As she gaed to the kirk. 

And weel he kent that ladye fair 

Amang her maidens free ; 
For the flower, that springs in May morning, 

Was not sae sweet as she. 

He lighted at the ladye's yate, 

And sat him on a pin ; 
And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love, 

Till a' was cosh within. 



Vjtf"A And first he sang a low low note, 
,j r ^f_ . And syne he sang a clear; 

~' == ji And aye tbe o'erword o' the sang 
y*Ls Was — " Your love can no win here." 

/e »j " Feast on, feast on, my maidens a', 
The wine flows you amang, 
While I gang to my shot-window, 
And hear yon bonnie bird's sang. 



*G& 



" Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird, 

The sang ye sung yestreen; 
For weel I ken, by your sweet singing, 

Ye are frae my true love seen." 

first he sang a merry sang, 

And syne he sang a grave ; 
And syne he peck'd his feathers gray, 

To her the letter gave. 

" Have there a letter from lord William : 

He says he's sent ye three, 
He canna wait your love langer, 

But for your sake he'll die." 

" Gae bid him bake his bridal bread, 

And brew his bridal ale; 
And I shall meet him at Mary's kirk, 

Lang, lang ere it be stale." 

The lady's gane to her chamber, 
And a moanfu' woman was she ; 

As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash, 
And were about to die. 

" A boon, a boon, my father deir, 

A boon I beg of thee !" 
" Ask not that paughty Scottish lord, 

For him you ne'er shall see. 

" But, for your honest asking else 

Weel granted it shall be." 
" Then, gin I die in Southern land, 

In Scotland gar bury me. 

" And the first kirk that ye come to, 

Ye's gar the mass be sung ; 
And the next kirk that ye come to, 

Ye's gar the bells be rung. 

" And when ye come to St Mary's kirk, 

Ye's tarry there till night." 
And so her father pledged his word, 

And so his promise plight. 

She has ta'en her to her bigly bour 

As fast as she could fare ; 
And she has diank a sleepy draught, 

That she had mix'd wi' care. 

And pale, pale grew her rosy check, 

That was sae bright of blee, 
And she seemed to be as surely dead 

A s any one could be. 




Then spak' her cruel step-minnie, 

" Tak' ye the burning lead, 
And drap a drap on her bosome, 

To try if she be dead." 

They took a drap o' boiling lead, 

They drapp'd on her breast; 
" Alas ! alas !" her father cried, 

" She 's dead without the priest." 

She neither chatter 'd with her teeth, 

Nor chiver'd with her chin ; 
" Alas ! alas !" her father cried, 

" There is nae breath within." 

Then up arose her seven brethren, 

And hew'd to her a bier ; 
They hew'd it frae the solid aik, 

Laid it o'er wi' silver clear. 

Then up and gat her seven sisters, 

And sewed to her a kell ; 
And every steek that they put in 

Sewed to a siller bell. 

The first Scots kirk that they cam' to, 

They garr'd the bells be rung, 
The next Scots kirk that they cam' to, 

They garr'd the mass be sung. 

But when they cam' to St Mary's kirk, 
There stood spearmen all in a raw; 

And up and started lord William, 
The chieftane amang them a'. 

" Set down, set down the bier," he sail ; 

" And let me look her upon :" 
But as soon as lord William touched her hand, 

Her colour began to come. 

She brightened like the lily flower, 

Till her pale colour was gone ; 
With rosy cheik, and ruby lip, 

She smiled her love upon. 

" A morsal of your bread, my lord, 

And one glass of your wine : 
For 1 ha'e fasted these three lang days, 

All for your sake and mine. 

" Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld hro- 
Gae hame and blaw your horn ! [thers ! 

I trow ye wad ha'e gi'en me the skaith, 
But I've gi'en you the scorn. 



" Commend me to my grey father, 
That wish'd my saul gude rest; 

But wae be to my cruel step-dame, 
Garr'd burn me on the breast." 

" Ah ! woe to you, you light woman ! 

An ill death may you dee ! 
For we left father and sisters at hame 

Breaking their hearts for thee." 



THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK. 

[Version given by Motherwell in his Min- 
strelsy Ancient and Modern.] 

" well is me my Jolly Goss-hawk, 

That ye can speak and flee ; 
For ye can carry a love letter, 

To my true love from me." 

ts O how can I carry a letter to her, 

When her 1 do not know ? 
I bear the lips to her never spak', 

And the eyes that her never saw." 

" The thing of my love's face that's white, 

Is that of dove or maw ; 
The thing of my love's face that's red, 

Is like blood shed on snaw. 

" And when you come to the castel, 

Light on the bush of ash ; 
And sit you there and sing our love9, 

As she comes from the mass. 

"And when she gaes into the house, 

Sit ye upon the whin ; 
And sit you there and sing our loves, 

As she goes out and in." 

And when he flew to that castel, 

He lighted on the ash ; 
And there he sat and sung their loves, 

As she came from the mass. 

And when she went into the house, 

He flew into the whin ; 
And there he sat and sung their 1< 

As she went out and in. 






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SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






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" Come hitherward my maidens all, 

And sip red wine am n ; 
Till I go to my west window, 

And hear a birdie's moan." 

She's gane unto her west window 

And fainly aye it drew ; 
&.nd soon into her white silk lap, 

The bird the letter threw : 

" Ye're bidden send your love a send, 

For he has sent you twa, 
And tell him where he can see you, 

Or he cannot live ava." 

" I send him the rings from my white fingers, 

The garlands of my hair, 
I send him the heart that 's in my breast, 

Wbat would my love have mair ? 
And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland, 

Ye'll bid him meet me there." 

She hied her to her father dear, 

As fast as gang could she ; 
" An asking, an asking, my father dear, 

An asking ye grant me. 
That if I die in fair England, 

In Scotland gar bury me. 

" At the first kirk of fair Scotland, 

You cause the bells be rung ; 
At the second kirk of fair Scotland, 

You cause the mass be sung. 

" At the third kirk of fair Scotland, 

You deal gold for my sake, 
And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, 

Oh ! there you'll bury me at. 

" And now, my tender father dear, 

This asking grant you me ; " 
" Your asking is but small," he said, 

" Weel granted it shall be." 



! [The lady asks the same boon and receives a 
- "V similar answer, first from her mother, then from 
^<>(pj her sister, and lastly from her seven brothers.] 

[£?•&) Then down as dead that lady drapp'd, 

Beside her mother's knee ; 
Then out it spak' an auld witch wife, 

s53 By tlie fire 8ide sat she- 



Says—*' drap the het lead on her cheek, 

Ana drap it on her chin ; 
And drap it on her rose red lips, 

And she will speak again ; 
For much a lady young will do, 

To her true love to win." 

They drapp'd the het lead on her cheek, 

So did they on her chin ; 
They drapp'd it on her red rose lips, 

But they breathed none again. 

Her brothers they went to a room, 

To make to her a bier ; 
The boards of it were cedar wood, 

And the plates on it gold so clear. 

Her sisters they went to a room, 

To make to her a sark ; 
The cloth of it was satin fine, 

And the steeking silken wark. 

" But well is me my Jolly Goss-hawk, 

That ye can speak and flee ; 
Come show to me any love tokens, 

That you have brought to me." 

" She sends you the rings from her fingers, 

The garlands from her hair , 
She sends you the heart within her breast, 

And what would ye have mair ? 
And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, 

She bids you meet her there." 

" Come hither all my merry young men, 
And drink the good red wine, 

For we must on to fair England, 
To free my love from pine." 

At the first kirk of fair Scotland, 

They gart the bells be rung ; 
At the second kirk of fair Scotland, 

They gart the mass be sung. 

At the third kirk of fair Scotland, 

They dealt gold for her sake ; 
And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, 

Her true love met them at. 

Set down, set down the corpse," he paid, 

" Till I look on the dead; 
The last time that I saw her face, 

She ruddy was and red ; 
But now alas, and woe is me, 

She 's wallowed like a weed." 






P§! 



KTl 



He rent the sheet upon her face, 

A little aboon her chin ; 
With lilv white cheek, and lemin' eyne, 

She lookt and laugh'd to him. 

*' Give me a chive of your bread, my love, 

A bottle of your wine, 
For I have fasted for your love, 

These weary lang days nine ; 
There's not a steed in your stable, 

But would have been dead ere syne. 

" G-ae hame, gae hame my seven brothers, 
Gae hame and blaw the horn ; 

For you can say in the south of England, 
Your sister gave you a scorn. 

" I came not here to fair Scotland, 

To lye amang the meal ; 
But I came here to fair Scotland, 

To wear the silks so weel. 

" I came not here to fair Scotland, 

To lye amang the dead ; 
But I came here to fair Scotland, 

To wear the gold so red." 






[The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spens, as 
Coleridge calls it in one of his Odes, is generally 
placed Jirst in our ballad collections, partly on 
account of its intrinsic merits, but chiefly from 
a persuasion that it had more undoubted claims 
to antiquity than almost any other. The subject 
of it unquestionably belongs to a remote age, 
and until of late years no suspicion existed but 
that the ballad itself was also of very ancient 
date. Several different theories as to the pre- 
cise expedition which it celebrates have been 
ventm-ed upon by ballad collectors. Sir "Walter 
Scott thinks that it relates to a voyage to Nor- 
way made by command of Alexander III. of 
Scotland, when bereaved of his own children, to 
bring home his grand-daughter, Margaret, called 
the Maid of Norway, the only offspring of Eric, 
king of Norway, and a daughter of Alexander's. 
Of this supposed voyage, however, history gives 
no account, but after the death of Alexander 
III., (1285) it is well known ambassadors were;*; 



sent for the Maid of Norway, now Queen of 
Scotland, and that she most unfortunately died 
at Orkney on her way to her kingdom, leaving 
the country to all the miseries of a disputed suc- 
cession, and for ever blasting a scheme which 
had been concerted of marrying the young 
Queen to Edward prince of Wales, son of Ed- 
ward I. of England — a marriage which might 
have prevented centuries of contention and 
bloodshed. Motherwell, on the other hand, 
thinks that the ballad records an event some- 
what earlier, namely, the melancholy fate of the 
gallant band which followed in the suite of Mar- 
garet, daughter of Alexander III., when she 
was espoused to Eric of Norway. In this expe- 
dition, many nobles perished in a storm, when 
on their return from Norway to Scotland. John 
Finlay, again, in his collection, doubting the 
claim of the ballad to such high antiquity from 
its mention of hats and cork-heeled shoon, sug- 
gests that it may refer to the reign of James III., 
who married a daughter of the king of Norway. 

These different suppositions as to the histori- 
cal event upon which the ballad is founded need 
not be any longer insisted on, as it is now very 
satisfactorily established, so far as internal and 
circumstantial evidence can go, that the ballad 
itself belongs to comparatively modern times, 
and that it was written by the authoress of 
Hardyknute, Lady Wardlaw, wife of Sir 
Henry Wardlaw of Pitreavie and Balmule, near 
Dunfermline, and daughter of Sir Charles Hal- 
ket of Pitfei-ran. This lady, of whom we shall 
have occasion to speak further when we come to 
quote Hardyknute, was born in 1677, married 
in 1696, and died in 1727. Percy was the first 
to print Sir Patrick Spens in his Reliques, 1765, 
where he says that it is given from two MS. 
copies transmitted to him from Scotland. He 
also remarks in a note, that "an ingenious 
friend thinks the author of Hardyknute has 
borrowed several expressions and sentiments 
from the foregoing and other old Scottish songs 
in this collection." Upon this hint and also 
from the localities of Dunfermline and Aber- 
dour, in the neighbourhood of Sir Henry Ward- 
law's seat, being mentioned in the ballad, Mr 
David Laing, in his Notes to the new edition of 
Johnson's Museum (1839,) was led to surmise 
that Sir Patrick Spens might have been writ- 
ten by Lady Wardlaw herself, as well as Hardy- 
knute. A comparison of the two ballads will, 
we think, persuade every reader of the accuracy 
of this conjecture, confirmed as it is by other cir- 









1 



SB 












9*2 



cumstances. (See No. 588 of Chambers' Jour- % 
nal, May 6, 1843, where this point is handled at 
some length.) 

The copy of Sir Patrick Spens given in the 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border is more com- 
plete than that of Percy's — and we here follow 
it. We also give Mr Peter Buchan's version of 
the ballad, which differs materially from all 
others, and which he says was taken down from 
" a wight of Homer's craft." If, however, Lady 
Wardlaw was the author of the original ballad, 
more reliance is to be placed on what is to be 
found in Percy and Scott than on what is to be 
gathered from oral tradition.] 

The king sits in Dunfermline town, 

Drinking the blude-red wine ; 
" O whare will I get a skeely skipper, 

To sail this new ship o' mine !" — 

O up and spake an elder n knight, 

Sat at the king's right knee, — 
" Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor, 

That ever sail'd the sea." — 

Our king has written a braid letter, 

And seal'd it with his hand, 
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, 

Was walking on the strand. 

" To Noroway, to Noroway, 

To Noroway o'er the faem ; 
The king's daughter of Noroway, 

'Tis thou maun bring her hame."— 

The first word that Sir Patrick read, 

Sae loud loud laughed he ; 
The neist word that Sir Patrick read, 

The tear blinded his e'e. 

"0 wha is this has done this deed, 

And tauld the king o' me, 
To send us out, at this time of the year, 

To sail upon the sea ? 

" Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, 

Our ship must sail the faem ; 
The king's daughter of Noroway, 

'Tis we must fetch her hame." — 

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, 

Wi' a* the speed they may ; 
They ha'e landed in Noroway, 

Upon a Wodensday. I 



They hadna been a week, a week, 

In Noroway, but twae, 
When that the lords o' Noroway £>^4 

Began aloud to say — 

" Ye Scottishmen spend a* our king's goad, [ Wi 
And a' our queenis fee." — Wjl\ 

" Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! 
Fu' loud I hear ye lie; 

" For I ha'e brought as much white monie, /^B J 
As gane my men and me, I _ JJ 

And I ha'e brought a half-fou of gude red G^P/L 
Out o'er the sea wi' me. [goud. £Jt2J°y 

" Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a'! 

Our gude ship sails the morn." — 
" Now, ever alake, my master dear, 

I fear a deadly storm ! 

" I saw the new moon, late yestreen, 

Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; 
And, if we gang to sea, master, 

I fear we'll come to harm." 

They hadna sail'd a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, [loud, 

When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew 
And gurly grew the sea. 

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, 

It was sic a deadly st -rm ; 
And the waves cam o'er the broken ship, 

Till a' her sides were torn. 

" O where will I get a gude sailor, 

To take my helm in hand, 
Till I get up to the tall top-mast, 

To see if 1 cau spy land ?" 

" O here am I , a sailor gude, 

To take the helm in hand, 
Till you go up to the tall top-mast ; 

But 1 fear you'll ne'er spy land."— 

He hadna gane a step, a step, 

A step but barely ane, 
When a boult flew out of our g. odly »h!p, 

And the salt sea it came in. 

" Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith, 

Another o' the twine, 
And wap them into our ship's side, 

And let nae the sea come in."— 






i ^g r \ They fetch'd a web o' the silken claith, 
^? <y Another o' the twine, [side, I 

J^~~5 And they wapp'd them round that gude ship's 
^QSC) But still the sea came in. 

laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords 
To weet their cork-heel'd shoon ! 
)^p\ But lang or a' the play was play'd, 
They wat their hats aboon. 

pT\ And mony was the feather bed, 
That floated on the faem ; 
And mony was the gude lord's son, 
That never mair cam hame. 

^Oj The ladyes wrang their fingers white, 

The maidens tore their hair, 
■Br \ A' for the sake of their true loves,— 
For them they'll see nae mair. 

lang, lang, may the ladyes sit, 
Wi' their fans into their hand, 

Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
Come sailing to the strand ! 

And lang, lang, may the maidens sit, 
With their goud kaims in their hair, 

A' waiting fur their ain dear loves! 
For them they'll see nae mair. 

Half owre, half owre to Aberdour, 

•Tis fifty fathoms deep, 
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, 

Wi' the Scots lords at his feet! 



SIR PATRICK SPENS. 
[From Buchan's Ballads of the North.] 
The king sits in Dunfermline town, 

A' drinking at the wine, 
Says, Where will I get a good skipper 

Will sail the saut seas fine ? 

Out it speaks an eldren knight 

Amang the compmie, — 
Young Patrick Spens is the best skipper 

That ever sail'd the sea. 

The king he wrote a braid letter, 

And seal'd it wi' his ring; 
Says, Ye'll gi'e that to Patrick Spens, 

See if ye can him find. 



He sent this, not wi' an auld man, 

Nor yet a simple boy, 
But the best o' nobles in his train 

This letter did convoy. 

When Patrick look'd the letter upon 

A light laugh then ga'e he ; 
But ere he read it till an end, 

The tear blinded his e'e. 

Ye'll eat and drink, my merry men a*, 

An' see ye be weell thorn ; 
For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind, 

My guid ship sails the morn. 

Then out it speaks a guid auld man, 

A guid death mat he dee, — 
Whatever ye do, my guid master, 

Tak' God your guide to bee. 

For late yestreen I saw the new moon, 

The auld moon in her arm. 
Ohon, alas ! says Patrick Spens, 

That bodes a deadly storm. 

But I maun sail the seas the morn, 
And likewise sae maun you ; 

To Noroway, wi' our king's daughter, — 
A chosen queen she's now. 

But I wonder who has been sae base, 

As tauld the king o' mee : 
Even though he ware my ae brither, 

An ill death mat he dee. 

Now Patrick he rigg'd out his ship, 

And sailed o'er the faem ; 
But mony a dreary thought had he, 

While he was on the main. 

They hadna sail'd upon the sea 

A day but barely three ; 
Till they came in sight o' Noroway, 

It's there where they must be. 

They hadna stayed into that place 

A ironth but and a day, 
Till he caus'd the flip in mugs gae roun', 

And -»ine in cans sae gay ; 

The pipe and harp sae sweetly play'd, 

The trumpets loudly soun* ; 
In every hall wherein they stay'd, 

Wi' their mirth did reboun'. 



C®^ 






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I 



fej 











SD 






Then out it speaks an auld skipper, 

An inbearing dog was he, — 
Ye've stay'd ower lang in Noroway, 

Spending your Icing's monie. 

Then out it speaks Sir Patrick Spens,—* 

how can a' this be ? 
I ha'e a bow o' guid red gowd 

Into my ship wi' me. 

But betide me well, betide me wae, 
This day I'se leave the shore ; 

And never spend my king's monie 
'Mong Noroway dogs no more. 

Young Patrick he is on the sea 

And even on the faem ; 
Wi' five-air-fifty Scots lords' sons, 

That lang'd to be at hame. 

They hadna sail'd upon the sea 

A day but barely three ; 
Till loud and boisterous grew the wind, 

And stormy grew the sea. 

O where will I get a little wee boy 

"Will tak ; my helm in hand, 
Till 1 gae up to my tapmast, 

And see for some dry land ? 

He hadna gane to his tapmast 

A step but barely three ; 
Ere thro' and thro' the bonnie ship's side, 

He saw the green haw-sea. 

There are five-an'-fifty feather beds 

Well packed in ae room ; 
And ye'll get as muckle guid canvas 

As wrap the ship a' roun' ; 

Ye'll piet her well, and spare her not, 
And mak' her hale and soun'. 

But ere he had the word well spoke 
The bonnie ship was down. 

O laith, laith were our guid lords' sons 
To weet their milk-white hands ; 

But lang ere a' the play was ower 
They wat their gowden bands. 

O laith, laith were our Scots lords' sons 
To weet their coal-black shoon ; 

But lang ere a' the play was ower 
They wat their hats aboon. 






It's even ower by Aberdour 

It's fifty fathoms deep, 
And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spei»s, 

And a's men at his feet. 

Its even ower by Aberdour, 
There's mony a craig and fin, 

And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens, 
Wi' mony a guid lord's son. 

Lang, lang will the ladyes look 
Into their morning weed, 

Before they see young Patrick Spens 
Come sailing ower the flood. 

Lang, lang will the ladyes look 
Wi' their fans in their hand, 

Before they see him, Patrick Spens, 
Come sailing to dry land. 






Matt, 




[This fine modern ballad is by Alfred Tkn» 
nyson. The author says it was suggested by 
Miss Ferrier's novel, " The Inheritance."] 

Lord Ronald courted Lady Clare, 
1 trow they did not part in scorn ; 

Lord Ronald, her cousin, courted her, 
And they will wed the morrow morn. 

" He does not love me for my birth, 
Nor for my lands so broad and fair; 

He loves me for my own true worth, 
And that is well," said lady Clare. 

In there came old Alice the nurse, 

Said, " Who was this that went from 

" It was my cousin," said lady Clare, [thee ?" 
" To-morrow he weds with me." 

" O God be thank'd !" said Alice the nurse, 
" That all comes round so just and fair: 

Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, 
And you are not the lady Clare.'' 

" Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my 
nurse?" 

Said lady Clare, " that ye speak so wild ?" 
" -As God 's above !" said Alice the nurse, 

" 1 speak the truth : you are my child. 



#K 



" The old Earl's daughter died at my breast ; 

I speak the truth, as I live by bread ! 
I buried her like my own sweet child, 
And put my child in her stead." 

" Falsely, falsely have ye done, 

mother," she said, " if this be true, 
To keep the best man under the sun 

So many years from his due." 

" Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
" But keep the secret for your life, 

And all you have will be lord Ronald's, 
When you are man and wife." 

" If I'm a beggar born," she said, 
" I will speak out, for I dare not lie. 

Pull off, pull off, the broach of gold, 
And fling that diamond necklace by." 

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
" But keep the secret all ye can." 

She said, " Not so • but I will know 
If there be any faith in man." 

" Nay now, what faith P" said Alice the nurse, 
" The man will cleave unto his right." 

u And he shall have it," the lady replied, 
" Though I should die to-night." 

*' Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ; 

Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee." 
" mother, mother, mother," she said, 

*' So strange it seems to me. 

" Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, 

My mother dear, if this be so, 
And lay your hand upon my head, 

And bless me, mother, ere I go." 

She clad herself in a russet gown, 

She was no longer lady Clare : 
She went by dale, and she went by down., 

With a single rose in her hair. 

Down stept lord Ronald from his tower: 
" O lady Clare, you shame your worth ! 

Why come you drest like a village maid, 
That are the flower of the earth ?" 

" If I come drest like a village maid, 

1 am but as my fortunes are : 
I am a beggar born," she said, 

" And not the lady Clare." 



" Play me no tricks," said lord Ronald, 
" For I am yours in word and in deed. 

" Play me no tricks," said lord Ronald, 
" Your riddle is hard to read." 

O and proudly stood she up ! 

Her heart within her did not fail : 
She look'd into lord Ronald's eyea, 

And told him all her nurse's tale. 

He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn : 

He turn'd, and kiss'd her where she stood, 

" If you are not the heiress born, 

" And I," said he, " the next in blood— 

" If you are not the heiress born, 
And I," said he, " the lawful heir, 

We two will wed to-morrow morn, 
And you shall still be lady Clare." 



[From Buchan's Ballads of the North. J 

Earl Richard had but ae daughter, 

A maid o' birth and fame ; 
She loved her father's kitchen boy, — 

The greater was her shame. 



But she could ne'er her true love see, 
Nor with him could she talk, 

In towns where she had wont to go, 
Nor fields where she could walk. 

But it fell ance upon a day, 
Her father went from home ; 

She's call'd upon the kitchen boy, 
To come and clean her room. 

" Come sit ye down by me, Willie, 

Come sit ye down by me ; 
There's nae a lord in a' the north 

That I can love but thee." 

" Let never the like be heard, lady, 

Nor let it ever be ; 
For if your father get word o' this, 

He will gar hang me hie." 






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^mJ^$-<^J^m^'' (K^tCT^n ^*^? {fm^St? ^pt^Qr^^J^'; 



'• O ye shall ne'er be hang'd, Willie, 
Your blu'le shall ne'er be drawn ; 

ni 'ay my life in pledge o' thine, 
Your body's ne'er get wrang." 

** Excuse me now, my comely dame, 

No langer here I'll stay ; 
You know my time is near expir'd, 

And now I must away. 

" The master-cook will on me call, 
And answered he must be ; 

If I am found in bower with thee, 
Great anger will there be." 

" The master-cook will on you call, 
But shall not answer'd be ; 

I'll put you in a higher place 
Than any cook's degree. 

"I have a coffer full of gold, 
Another of white monie ; 

A nd I will build a bonnie ship, 
And set my love to sea. 

" Silk shall be your sailing clothes, 
Gold yellow in your hair ; 

As white like milk are your twa handa, 
Your body neat and fair-" 

/==-. } This lady, with her fair speeches, 

She made the boy grow bold ; 
U= ==^ And he began to kiss and clap, 

F\ f*~% And on his love lay hold. 

(■= , T\ And she has built a bonnie ship, 

g!=|/j Set her love to the sea ; 

[P- -=%/ Seven score o' brisk young men, 

'^(20 To bear him companie. 

r C \ Then she's ta'en out a gay gold ring, 

*^=L/ To him she did it gi'e : 

" This will mind you on the ladie, Willie 
That's laid her love on thee." 

sjjf^A Then he's ta'en out a piece of gold, 

And he brake it in two; 
•' All I have in the world, my dame, 
"° Sj?j ^ or love > I g* ve to you." 

'Q_ v\ Now he is to his bonnie ship, 

And merrily ta'en the sea; 
The lady lay o'er castle wa', 
The tear blinded her e'e. 



CsB 



They had not sail'd upon the sea 

A week but barely three, 
When came a prosperous gale of wind,- 

On Spain's coast landed he. 

A lady lay o'er castle wa', 

Beholding dale and down ; 
And she beheld the bonnie ship 

Come sailing to the town. 

" Come here, come here, my Maries a', 

Ye see not what I see ; 
For here I see the bonniest ship 

That ever sail'd the sea. 

" In her there is the bravest squire 

That e'er my eyes did see ; 
All clad in silk, and rich attire, 

And comely, comely's he. 

" O busk, O busk, my Maries all, 

busk and make ye fine ; 
And we will on to yon shore side, 

Invite yon squire to dine. 

'* Will ye come up to my castle 
Wi' me, and take your dine ? 

And ye shall eat the gude white bread, 
And drink the claret wine." 

" I thank you for your bread, lady, 

1 thank you for your wine ; 

I thank you for your kind offer, 
But now I have not time." 

" 1 would gi'e all my land," she says, 
" Your gay bride were I she; 

And then to live on a small portion, 
Contented 1 would be." 

" She's far awa* frae me, lady, 

She's far awa' frae me. 
That has my heart a -keeping fast, 

And my love still she'll be." 

" But ladies they are unconstant, 
When their loves go to sea ; 

And she'll be wed ere ye gae back, 
My love, pray stay wi' me." 

" If she be wed ere I go back, 

And prove sae false to me, 
J shall live single all my life, — 

I'll ne'er wed one but she." 



w- 







Then she's ta'en out a gay gold ring, 

And ga'e him presentlie; 
" 'Twill mind you on the lady, young man, 

That laid her love on thee." 

" The ring that's on my mid-finger 

Is far dearer to me, 
Though yours were o' the gude red gold, 

And mine the metal free." 

He view'd them all, baith neat and small, 

As they stood on the shore ; 
Then hoist the mainsail to the wind, 

Adieu, for evermore ! 

He had not sail'd upon the sea 

A week but barely three, 
Until there came a prosperous gale, 

In Scotland landed he. 

But he put paint upon his face, 

And oil upon his hair; 
Likewise a mask above his brow, 

Which did disguise him sair. 

Earl Richard lay o'er castle wa', 

Beholding dale and down ; 
And he beheld the bonnie ship 

Come sailing to the town. 

" Come here, come here, my daughter dear, 

Ye see not what I see ; 
For here I see the bonniest ship 

That ever sail'd the sea. 

u In her there is the bravest squire 

That e'er my eyes did see ; 
busk, busk, my daughter dear, 

Come here., come here, to me. 

" O busk, O busk, my daughter dear, 

O busk, and make ye fine ; 
And we will on to the shore side, 

Invite yon squire to dine." 

" He's far awa' frae me, father, 

He's far awa' frae me, 
Who has the keeping o' my heart, 

And I'll wed nane but he." 

" Whoever has your heart in hand, 

Yon lad's the match for thee ; 
And he shall come to my eastle 

This day, and dine wi' me." 



" Will ye come up to my castle 
With me, and take your dine ? 

And ye shall eat the gude white bread, 
And drink the claret wine." 

" Yes, I'll come up to your castle 
With you, and take my dine; 

For 1 would give my bonnie ship 
Were your fair daughter mine." 

<( I would give all my lands," he said, 
" That your bride she would be ; 

Then to live on a small portion, 
Contented would I be." 

As they gaed up from yon sea strand, 
And down the bowling green, 

He drew the mask out o*er his face, 
For fear he should be seen. 

He's done him down from bower to bower, 

Likewise from bower to ha' ; 
And there he saw that lady gay, 

The flower out o'er them a'. 

He's ta'en her in his arms twa. 

And hail'd her courteouslie; 
"Excuse me, sir, there's no strange H)<U3 

Such freedom use with me." 

Her father turn'd him round about, 

A light laugh then gave he ; 
** Stay, I'll retire a little while, 

Perhaps you may agree." 

Now Willie's ta'en a gay gold ring, 

And gave her presentlie; 
Says, " Take ye that, ye lady fair, 

A love token from me." 

" got ye't on the sea sailing ? 

Or got ye't on the sand ? 
Or got ye't on the coast of Spain, 

Upon a dead man's hand ?" 

" Fine silk it was his sailing clothes, 

Gold yellow was his hair ; 
It would ha'e made a hale heart blet-d 

To see him lying there." 

'* He was not dead as I pass'd by, 

But no remeid could be ; 
He gave me this token to bear 

Unto a fair ladie. 



AM 



K) 



%R 







: ^^^^^^^^^^S^^^^^d)*M 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



^mri 



w* 









" And by the marks he has descryv'd, 

I'm sure that you are she ; 
So take this token of free will, 

For him you'll never see." 

In sorrow she tore her mantle, 
With care she tore her hair ; 

" Now since I've lost my own true love, 
I'll ne'er love young men mair." 

He drew the mask from off his face, 

The lady sweetly smiled ; 
*'Awa', awa', ye fause Willie, 

How have you me beguiled ?" 

Earl Richard he went through the ha', 
The wine glass in his hand; 

But little thought his kitchen boy 
Was heir o'er a' his land. 

But this she kept within her heart, 

And never told to one ; 
Until nine months they were expird 

That her young son came home. 

She told it to her father dear ; 

He said, " Daughter, well won ; 
You've marri: d for love, not for gold, 

Your joys will ne'er be done*." 



["James, Earl of Murray, the subject of this 
ballad, was a son of Lord Downe, but acquired 
the title of Moray by marrying Elizabeth, eldest 
daughter of the celebrated Regent Moray. He 
was thought to be the handsomest man of his 
time ; and it would appear from the ballad, that 
he was skilled in those chivalric accomplishments 
which are so well fitted to set off a good figure to 
advantage. There is even a suspicion that he 
was a gallant of the queen, Anne of Denmark, 
then recently brought over to Scotland ; but th s 
seems to be countenanced by little else than the 
ballad." — Chambers. 

" The 7 of February this zeire, 1592, the Ear e 
of Murray was cruelly murthered by the Earle of 
Huntly, at his house in Dunibrissell, in Fyffe- 
shyre, and with him Bum bar, Shriffe of Munay ; 
it [was] given out, and publickly talked that the 



£ Earle of Huntley was only the instrument of per- 
i petratting this facte, to satisffie the Kingea 
jelosie of Murray, quhom the Queine, more rash- ! 
lie than wyslie, some few dayes before had com- 
mendit in the Kinges heiringe, with too many 
epithettsof a proper and gallant man. The res- 
suns of these surmisses proceidit from proclama- 
tione of the Kinges the 18 of Marche following, i 
inhibitting the younge Earle of Murray to per- \ 
sew the Earle of Huntley for his fathers slaugh- 
ter, in respecte he being wardit in the castell of 
Blacknesse for the same nmrther, was willing to 
abyde his tryell; averring that he had done 
nothing, bot by the King's ma ,ies commissione : 
and so was neither airt nor pairt of the mur- , 
ther." — Annates of Scotland by Sir James Bal~ 
four, Vol. I. Edin., 1824.] 

] 
Ye Highlands, and ye Law-lands, 

Oh ! quhair lia'e ye been ? 
They ha'e slaine the Earl of Murray, 
And ha'e lain him on the green. 

Now wae be to thee, Huntly ! 

And quhair fore did you sae? 
I bade you bring him wi' you, 

But forbade you him to slay. 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he rid at the ring; 
And the bonnie Earl of Murray, 

Oh ! he might ha'e been a king. 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he play'd at the ba' ; 
And the bonnie Earl of Murray 

Was the flower amang them a'. 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he play'd at the gluve; 
And the bonnie Earl of .Murray, 

Oh! he was the queenes luve. 

Oh ! lang will his lady 

Look owre the castle Downe,* 

Ere she see the Earl of Murray 
Cum sounding through the towne. 



® 



* D une Cast'.e, in Menteith now in ruins, but 
Still the property of the noble family Of Moray. 
It may be mentioned, that Dunnibrissle, where 
the murder happi n< d was the seat of the earl's 
mother; and that he was only there on a visit. 

Chcnibers. ■ 



:«IS« 




\&, 



11 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. . 



THE BONNIE EARL OF MURRAY. 
T Another Version,] 

Open the gates, 

And let him come in ; 
He is my brother Huntly, 

He'll do him nae harm. 

The gates they were open't, 

They let him come in ; 
But fause traitor Huntly, 

He did him great harm. 

He's ben and ben, 

And ben to his bed ; 
And with a sharp rapier, 

He stabbed him dead. 

The lady came down the stair, 

Wringing her hands : 
" He has slain the Earl o' Murray, 

The flower o' Scotland." 

But Huntly lap on his horse; 

Rade to the king, 
" Ye're welcome hame, Huntly, 

And whare ha'e ye been ? 

" Whare ha'e ye been ? 

And how ha'e ye sped ?" 
" I've killed the Earl o' Murray, 

Dead in his bed." 

" Foul fa' you, Huntly, 

And why did ye so ; 
You might ha'e ta'en the Earl of Murray, 

And saved his life too." 

" Her bread it's to bake, 

Her yill is to brew ; 
My sister's a widow, 

And sair do I rue." 

" Her corn grows ripe, 

Her meadows grow green ; 
But in bonnie Dinnibristle, 

I darena be seen." 



[Supposed, like the two former ballads, to rein 
to the fate of the unfortunate Earl of Murray.] 

About Zule quhen the wind blew cule, 

And the round tables began; 
A ! there is cum to our king's court, 

Money a well-favour"d man. 

The queen luikit owre the castle wa', 

Beheld baith dale and down, 
And there she saw the young Waters, 

Cum riding to the town. 

His footmen they did rin before, 

His horsemen rade behind, 
And mantel of the burning gowd 

Did keep him frae the wind. 

Gowden graith'd his horse before, 

And siller shod behind ; 
The horse young Waters rade upon 

Was fleeter than the wind. 

Out then spak' a wylie lord, 

Unto the queen said he ; 
a O tell me quha's the fairest face 

Rides in the company ?" 

" I've sene lord, and I've sene laird, 

And knights of high degree, 
But a fairer face than young Waters', 

Mine eyne did never see." 

Out than spak' the jealous king, 

(And an angry man was he) : 
" 0, if he had been twice as fair, 

You micht have excepted me." 

" Your neither laird nor lord," she says, 
" But the king that wears the crown; 

There's not a knight in fair Scotland, 
But to thee maun bow down." 

For a' that she could do or say, 

Appeased he wadna be; 
But for the words which she had said, 

Young Waters he maun die. 

They ha'e ta'en young Waters, and 

Put fetters to his feet; 
They ha'e ta'en young Waters, and 

Thrown him in dungeon deep. 



C>2Q 















58 









«&?F KTtar^wrthr 



'J'' 



zip 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" Aft I have ridden through Stirling town, 
In the wind hot and the weit; 

But I ne'er rade through Stirling town 
Wi' fetters at my feet. 

** Aft I have ridden through Stirling town, 
In the wind hot and the rain ; 

But I ne'er rode through Stirling town 
Ne'er to return again." 



•a^pTN They ha'e ta'en to the heiding hill, 
His young son in his cradle ; 

JT-y^ And they ha'e ta'en to the heiding hill, 
His horse but and the saddle. 

They ha'e ta'en to the heiding hill, 
His lady fair to see ; 
! And for the words the queen had spoke 
L/f~J Young Waters he did die. 

mm 



1 §b\x Skt^niir amli EnlUg 

[Modern Ballad. — Hugh Ainslie.] 



Sir Arthur's foot is on the sand, 
His boat wears in the wind, 

An' he's turn'd him to a fair foot-page 
Was standing him behind. 

w Gae hame, gae hame, my bonnie boy, 

An' glad your mither's e'e, 
I ha'e left anew to weep an' rue, 

Sae there's nane maun weep for thee. 

** An' take this to my father's ha'. 
Air tell him I maun speed; 

There's fifty men in chase o' me, 
An' a price upon my head. 

" An' bear this to Dunellie's towers, 
Where my love Annie's gane, 

It is a lock o' my brown hair, 
Girt wi' the diamond stane." 

" Bunellie he has dochters five, 

An' some o' them are fair; 
Sae, how will I ken thy true love 

Amang sae mony there ?" 



" Ye'll ken her by the stately step 

As she gaes up the ha' ; 
Ye'll ken her by the look o' love 

That peers outowre them a' ; 

" Ye'll ken her by the braid o' goud 
That spreads o'er her e'e-bree; 

Ye'll ken her by the red, red cheek, 
When ye name the name o' me. 

"That cheek should lain on this breast- 
That hame should been my ha" ; [bane — 

Our tree is bow'd, our flow'r is dow'd — 
Sir Arthur's an outlaw," 



P 

§3 



He sigh'd and turn'd him right about, 
Where the sea lay braid and wide ; 

It's no to see his bonnie boat, 
But a wat'ry cheek to hide. 

The page has doffd his feather'd cap, 

But an' his raven hair ; 
An' out there came the yellow locks, 

Like swirls o' the gouden wair. 

Syne he's undone his doublet clasp— 
'Twas o' the grass-green hue — 

An', like a lily frae the pod, 
A lady burst to view. 

" Tell out thy errand now, Sir Knight, 

Wi' thy love -tokens a'; 
If I e'er rin against my will, 

It shall be at a lover's ca'." 

Sir Arthur turn'd him round about, 

E'en as the lady spak'; 
An' thrice he dighted his dim e'e, 

An' thrice he stepped back. 

But ae blink o* her bonnie e'e, 

Out spake his lady Anne ; 
An' he s catch'd her by the waist sae sma 

Wi' the grip of a drowning man. 

** O ! Lady Anne, thy bed's been hard, 
When I thought it the down ; 

O ! Lady Anne, thy love's been deep, 
When I thought it was flown. 

** I've met my love in the green wood— 

My foe on the brown hill : 
But I ne'er met wi' aught before 

I liked sae weel— an' ill. 



K 






S3 



" ! T could make a queen o' thee, 

An' it would be my pride ; 
Bat, Lady Anne, it's no for thee 

To be an outlaw's bride." 

ft Hae I left kith an' kin, Sir Knight, 

To turn about an' rue ? 
Ha'e I shared win' an' weet wi' thee, 

That I maun leave thee now ? 

" There's goud an' siller in this han' 

Will buy us mony a rigg ; 
There's pearling s in this other han' 

A stately tow'r to big. 

" Though thou'rt an outlaw frae this Ian', 
The warld's braid and wide." — 

" Make room, make room, my merry men, 
For young Sir Arthur's bride !" 



I :;;:;, 



[From Percy's Collection, 
tion to the following ballad, 
Fair Annie."] 



See the introduc- 
' Sweet Willie and 



<*£&f 



Lord Thomas and fair Annet 

Sate a' day on a hill ; 
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, 

They had not talkt their fill. 

Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 

Fair Annet took it ill : 
A'! I will never wed a wife 

Against my ain trends wilL 

G-if ye wuil nevir wed a wife, 

A wife wull neir wed yee. 
Sae he is hame to tell his mither, 

And knelt upon his knee : 

O rede, O rede, mither, he says, 

A gude rede gi'e to mee : 
O sail I tak' the nut-browne bride, 

And let fair Annet bee ? 

The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, 

Fair Annet she's gat nane ; 
And the little beauty fair Annet has, 

O it wull soon be gane ! 



And he has till his brother gane : 

Now, brother, rede ye mee ; 
A' sail I raarrie the nut-browne bride, 

And let fair Annet bee ? 

The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, l ==a? 

The nut-browne bride has kye ; VlJlP-! 

1 wad ha'e ye marrie the nut-browne bride, ^ "^^K 

And cast fair Annet bye. 

Her oxen rray dye i' the house, Billie, ( ^Pj 

And her kye into the byre ; >Sj^/ 

And I sail ha'e nothing to my sell, 

Bot a fat fadge by the fyre. Cs*^J 

And he has till his sister gane : i£2^S 

Now, sister, rede ye mee; XlF"-' 

O sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, i |^\S 

And set fair Annet free ? s=- -_^° 



Ise rede ye tak' fair Annet, Thomas, 
And let the browne bride alane ; 

Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alaee ! 
What is this we brought harne ? 

No, I will tak' my mither's counsel, 
And marrie me owt o' hand ; 

And I will tak' the nut-browne bride 
Fair Annet may leive the land. 

Up then rose fair Annet's father 

Twa hours or it wer day, 
And he has gane into the bower, 

Wherein fair Annet lay. 

Rise up, rise up, fair Annet. he says. 
Put oh your silken sheene ; 

Let us gae to St Marie's kirke, 
And see that rich weddeen. 

My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, 

And dress to me my hair ; 
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, 

See yee lay ten times mair. 

My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, 
And dress to me my smock ; 

The one half is o' the holland fine, 
The other o' needle-work. 

The horse fair Annet rade upon, 

He amblit like the wind, 
Wi' siller he was shod before, 

WI 1 burning gowd behind. 



VMi 



\A3 
1 

m 



m 



&£ 













a 



M 



^ > 9 



Four-and-twanty siller bells 

Wer a* tyed till his mane, 
And yae tift o' the norland wind, 

They tinkled ane by ane. 

Four-and-twenty gay gude knichts 

Rade by fair Annet's side, 
And four-and-twenty fair ladies, 

As gin she had bin a bride. 

And whan she cam' to Marie's kirk, 

She sat on Marie's stean ; 
The cleading that fair Annet had on 

It skinkled in their een. 

And whan she cam' into the kirk, 

She shimmer'd like the sun ; 
The belt that was about her waist, 

Was a' wi' pearles bedone. 

She sat her by the nut-browne bride, 
And her een they were sae clear, 

Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride, 
When fair Annet she drew near. 

He had a rose into his hand, 

And he gave it kisses three, 
And reaching by the nut-browne bride, 

Laid it on fair Annet's knee. 

Up than spak' the nut-browne bride ; 

She spak' wi' meikle spite ; 
And whar gat ye that rose-water, 

That does mak' yee sae white ? 

O I did get the rose-water 

Whair ye wull neir get nane, 
For I did get that very rose-water 

Into my mither's wame. 

The bride she drew a long bodkin, 

Frae out her gay head-gear, 
And strake fair Annet unto the heart, 

That word she nevir spak' mair. 

Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wax pale, 
And marvelit what mote bee : 

But when he saw her dear heart's blude, 
A' woodwroth vvexed hee. 

He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp, 
That was sae sharp and meet, 

And drave it into the nut-browne bride, 
That fell deid at his feit. 



Now stay for me, dear Annet, he sed, 

Now stay, my dear, he cry'd ; 
Then strake the dagger until his heart, 

And fell deid by her side. 

Lord Thomas was buried without the "irk- 
Fair Annet within the quiere; [wa', 

And o' the tane there grew a birk, 
The other a bonnie briere. 

And aye they grew, and aye they threw, 

As they wad faine be neare ; 
And by this ye may ken right weil, 

They were twa luvers deare. 



SWEET WILLIE, AND FAIR ANNIE. 

[From Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs. 
" Three ballads," says Mr Jamieson, " all of 
them of considerable merit, on the same subject 
as the following, are to be found in vol. iii. of 
the ' Reliques of Ancient English Poetry,' under 
the titles of Lord Thomas and Fair Elinor, Fair 
Margaret and Sweet William, and Lord Thomas 
and Fair Annet, (see above) ; the latter of which 
is in that work given with some corrections 
' from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland,' 
and supposed to be composed, not without im- 
provements, out of the two former ancient Eng- 
lish ones. At this distance of time, it would be 
in vain to attempt to ascertain which was the 
original, and which the imitation; and, I think 
it extremely probable, that, in their origin, they 
were perfectly independent of each other, and 
both derived from some one of those tableaux, 
romances, or tales, which, about four or five 
hundred years ago, were so familiarly known, in 
various forms, over a great part of Europe, that 
it would even then have been difficult to say to 
what country or language, they owed their birth. 
The text of Lord Thomas and Fair Annet seems 
to have been adjusted, previous to its leaving 
Scotland, by some one who was more of a scho- 
lar than the reciters of ballads generally are; 
and, in attempting to give it an antique cast, it 
has been deprived of somewhat of that easy fa- 
cility which is the distinguished characteristic of 
the traditionary ballad narrative. With the 
text of the following ditty, no such experiment 
has been made. It is here given pure and en- 
tire, as it was taken down by the editor, from 
a* the recitation of a lady in Aberbrothick. (Air* 



















W. Arrot,) to whose politeness and friendship 
this collection is under considerable obligations. 
She had no previous intimation of the compiler's 
visit, or of his undertaking; and the few houi-s ! 
he spent at her friendly fire-side were very busily j 
employed in writing. As she had, when a child, \ 
, learnt the ballad from an elderly maid-servant, 
and probably had not repeated it for a dozen of 
j years before I had the good fortune to be intro- 
duced to her; it may be depended upon, that 
every line was recited to me as nearly as possible 
in the exact form in which she learnt it," 

In the notes to the ballad, Mr Jamieson con- 
fesses that " line 3d of stanza 29, is an interpo- 
lation. Instead of stanzas 30 and 31, Mrs Arrot 
recited: 

' Tak' up and wear your rose, "Willie, 

And wear't wi' muckle care; 
For the woman sail never bear a son, 
That will make my heart sae sair.' 
The whole of stanza 36 — the second and third 
• lines of stanza 40 — stanza 41, except the first line 
—and the whole of stanzas 42 and 44, were also 
- supplied by the editor. In every other instance, 
\ the purity and integrity of the text was scru- 
pulously preserved."] 

Sweet "Willie and fair Annie 

Sat a' day on a hill ; 
And though they had sitten seven year, 

They ne'er wad had their fill. 

Sweet Willie said a word in haste, 

And Annie took it ill : 
" 1 winna wed a tocherless maid, 

Against my parent's will." 

O Annie she's gane till her bower, 

And Willie down the den ; 
And he's come till his mither's bower, 

By the lei fight o' the moon. 

" O sleep ye, wake ye, mither ?" he says, 
" Or are ye the bower within ?" 

*' I sleep richt aft, I wake richt aft;* 
What want ye wi' me, son ? 

*' Whare ha'e ye been a' night, Willie ; 

O wow ! ye've tarried lang !" 
•* I have been courtin' fair Annie, 

And she is frae me gane. 



" There is twa maidens in a bower, 
Which o' them sail I bring hatne ? 

The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows. 
And fair Annie has nane." 

" It's an ye wed the nut-brown maid, 

I'll heap gold wi* my hand ; 
But an ye wed her, fair Annie, 

I'll straik it wi' a wand. 

" The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows. 

And fair Annie has nane , 
And Willie, for my benison, 

The nut-brown maid bring hame." 

"01 sail wed the nut-browne maid, 

And I sail bring her hame ; 
But peace nor rest between us twa, 

Till death sinder's again. 

"But, alas, alas!" says sweet Willie, 

" fair is Annie's face !" 
" But what's the matter, my son Willie, 

She has nae ither grace." 

"Alas, alas!" says sweet Willie; 

" But white is Annie's hand !" 
"But what's the matter, my son Willie. 

She hasna fur o' land." 

<f Sheep will die in cots, mither, 

And owsen die in byre ; 
And what's this warld's wealth to me, 

An I get na my heart's desire ? 

" Whar will I get a bonnie boy, 
That wad fain win hose and shoon, 

That will rin to fair Annie's bower, 
Wi' the lei light o' the moon ? 

Ye'U tell her to come to W'illie's weddin'. 

The morn at twal at noon ; 
Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin', 

The heir o' Duplin town.* 






* That is, my slumbers are short, broken, and 
; interrupted ; a characteristic of age. 



* Duplin town. — Duplin is the seat of the earl 
of Kinnoul, from which he derives his title of 
viscount. It is in the neighbourhood of Perth. 
This copy of the ballad was taken from the cur- 
rent traditionary manner of reciting it in that 
part of the country ; and it is observable, that 
ballads are very frequently adapted to the meri- 
dian of the place where they are found ; so that 
the same parts and characters are given to per 









fed 



C* 



" She manna put on the black, the black, 
Nor yet the dowie brown ; [white, 

But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae 
And her bonnie locks hangin' down." 

He is on to Annie's bower, 

And tirled at the pin ; 
And wha was sae ready as Annie hersel, 

To open and let him in. 

" Ye are bidden come to "Willie's weddin', 

The morn at twal at noon ; 
Ye are bidden come to Willie's wedding 

The heir of Duplin town. 

" Ye manna put on the black, the black, 
Nor yet the dowie brown ; [white, 

But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae 
And your bonnie locks hangin' down." 

" It's I will come to "Willie's weddin', 

The morn at twal at noon ; 
It's I will come to Willie's weddin', 

But I rather the mass had been mine 

** Maidens, to my bower come, 

And lay gold on my hair; 
And whare ye laid ae plait before, 

Ye'll now lay ten times mair. 

" Taylors, to my bower come, 

And mak' to me a weed ; 
And smiths unto my stable come, 

And shoe to me a steed." 

At every tate o' Annie's horse' mane 

There hang a silver bell; 
And there came a wind out frae the south, 

Which made them a' to knell. 

And when she came to Mary -kirk, 

And sat down in the deas, 
The light that came frae fair Annie, 

Enlighten d a' the place. 

But up and stands the nut-brown bride, 

Just at her father's knee ; 
" O wha is this, my father dear, 
That blinks in Willie's e'e ?" 
H^J " O this is Willie's first true love, 

"^Js Before he loved thee." 

%y 

HU sons of different names and ranks in life in dif- 
^J^ferent parts of the country. — Jamieson. 



" If that be Willie's first trne love. 

He might ha'e latten me be ; 
She has as much gold on ae finger, 

As I'll wear till I die. 

" O whare got ye that water, Ancle, 

That washes you sae white?" 
" I gotiti'mymither's wambe, 

"Whare ye'll ne'er get the like. 

'* For ye've been wash'd in Dunny'g well, 

And dried on Dunny's dyke; 
And a' the water in the sea 

Will never wash ye white*" 

Willie's ta'en a rose out o' his hat, 

Laid it in Annie's lap; 
" The bonniest to the bonniest fa's, 

Hae, wear it for my sake." 

" Tak* up and wear your rose, Willis, f3=fl=\ 

As lang as it will last ; 
For, like your love, its sweetness a' 
Will soon be gane and past. 

" Wear ye the rose o' love, Willie, 

And 1 the thorn o' care ; 
For the woman sail never bear a son, 

That will mak' my heart sae sail." 

When night was come, and day was gane, 

And al men boun' to bed, 
Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bridJ? 

In their chamber were laid. 

( 
They werena weel lyen down, 

And scarcely fa'n asleep, 
Whan up and stands she, fair Annie, 

Just up at Willie's feet. 

" Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride. J 

Between ye and the wa' ; 
And sae will I o' my winding sheet, 

That suits me best ava. 

" Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride, \ 
Between ye and the stock , >' 

And sae will I o' my black black kist, \ 

That has neither key nor lock. 

" Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride, , 

And o' your bridal bed ; 
And sae will I o' the cald cald moole, . 

That soon will hap my head." 



Sad Willie raise, put on his c!aise, 
Drew till him his hose and shoon, 

And he is on to Annie's bower, 
By the lei light o' the moon. 

The firsten bower that he came till, 

There was right dowie wark ; 
Her mither and her three sisters 

Were makin' to Annie a sark. 

The nexten bower that he came till, 

There was right dowie cheir ; 
Her father and her seven brethren 

Were makin' to Annie a bier. 

The lasten bower that he came till, 

O, heavy was his care I 
The waxen lights were burning bright, 

And fair Annie streekit there. 

He's lifted up the coverlet, 

Where she, fair Annie, lay; 
" Sweet was her smile, but wan her cheek ; 

Oh, wan, and cald as clay !" 

Pale Willie grew ; wae was his heart, 

And sair he sigh'd wi' teen ; 
** Oh, Annie ! had I kent thy worth, 

Ere it o'er late had been 1 

" It's I will kiss your bonnie cheek, 

And I will kiss your chin ; 
And I will kiss your clay-cald lip ; 

But I'll never kiss woman again. 

" And that I was in love out-done, 

Sail ne'er be said o' me ; 
For, as ye've died for me, Annie, 

Sae will I do for thee. 

" The day ye deal at Annie's burial 

The bread but and the wine ; 
Before the morn at twall o'clock, 

They'll deal the same at mine." 

The tane was buried in Mary's kirk, 

The tither in Mary's quire; 
And out o' the tane there grew a birk, 

And out o' the tither a brier. 

And aye they grew, and aye they grew, 

TJntill they twa did meet; 
And every ane that past them by, 

Said, " Thae's been lovers sweet !" 



[The ballad of " Young Beichan and Susiu 
Pye" is common to both England and Scotland, ( ' 
and several different readings of it exist. The W.gS 
following Scottish version is from Mr Kinloch'g /^|W 
collection, London, 1827. Mr Jamieson gives two jk-Xj 
ballads founded on the same subject. The second pr ^ 
of these, entitled " Young Bekie," as it differs >^i?J 
materially from the present, we subjoin. The ( _ j J 
subject of the ballads, " Lord Beichan" or C^~^y 
" Young Bekie 1 ' is supposed, with great proba- (j£)°\ 
bility, to have originated in the historical fact /^--df 
of Gilbert Becket, the father of the famous Tho- L , 7 "^? * 
mas a Becket, having been enslaved by the Sara- vf W^*\ 
cens, and liberated through the instrumentality f^l--^ 
of a governor's daughter, who sought him out i^d \~j 
afterwards in London through many dangers ==y|i[ 
and difficulties, and whom he made his wife. ~~ 
Thomas a Becket was a son of this union.] 

Young Beichan was in London born, 

He was a man of hie degree ; 
He past through monie kingdoms great, 

Until he cam' unto grand Turkie. 

He view'd the fashions of that land, 

Their way of worship viewed he ; 
But unto onie of their stocks, 

He wadna sae much as bow a knee : 

Which made him to be taken straight, 

And brought afore their high jurie ; 
The savage Moor did speak upricht, 

And made him meikle ill to dree. 

In ilka shoulder they've bor'd a hole, 

And in ilka hole they've put a tree; 
They've made him to draw carts and wains, 

Till he was sick and like to dee. 

But young Beichan was a Christian born, jpT^= 

A nd still a Christian was he ; 
Which made them put him in prison Strang, /^ j^T" 

And cauld and hunger sair to dree ; 
And fed on nocht but bread and water, 

Untill the day that he mot dee. 



In this prison there grew a tree, 
And it was unco stout and Strang ; 

Where he was chained by the middle, 
Until his life was almost gane. 




/?'- "' ' :J;?)^^ 







SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






The savage Moor had but ae dochter, 
And her name it was Susie Pye ; 

And ilka day as she took the air, 
The prison door she passed bye. 

But it fell ance upon a day, 

As she was walking, she heard him sing; 
She listen *d to his tale of woe, 

A happy day for young Beichan i 



" My hounds they all go masterless, 
My hawks they flee frae tree to tree, 



My youngest brother will heir my lands, 
My native land I'll never see." 



yj " O were I but the prison-keeper, 
As I'm a ladie o' hie degree, 

| I soon wad set this youth at large, 

And send him to his am countries' 



M 






She went away into her chamber, 
A 11 nicht she never closed her e'e ; 

And when the morning begoud to dawn, 
At the prison door alane was she. 

She gied the keeper a piece of gowd, 
And monie pieces o' white monie, 

To tak' her through the bolts and bars, 
The lord frae Scotland she lang'd to iee :- 

She saw young Beichan at the stake, 
Which made her weep maist bitterlie. 



" O ha'e ye got onie lands," she says, 
" Or castles in your ain countrie ? 

It's what wad ye gi'e to the ladie fair 
Wha out o' prison wad set you free ? 



" It's I ha'e houses, and I ha'e lands, 
Wi' monie castles fair to see, 

And I wad gi'e a' to that ladie gay, 
Wha out o' prison wad set me free." 

The keeper syne brak aff his chains, 
And set Lord Beichan at libertie : — 

She fill'd his pockets baith wi' gowd, 
To tak' him till his ain countrie. 






Rr 



m 



She took him frae her father's prison, 
And gied to him the best o' wine ; 

And a brave health she drank to him, — 
" I wish, Lord Beichan, ye were mine ' 

It's seven lang years I'll mak' a vow, 
And seven lang years I'll keep it true; 

If ye'll wed wi' na ither woman, 
It's I will wed na man but you." 




She's tane him to her father's port, 
And gi'en to him a ship o' fame, — 

" Farewell, farewell, my Scottish lord, 
I fear I'll ne'er see you again." 

Lord Beichan turn'd him round about, 
And lowly, lowly, loutit he • — 

'* Ere seven lang years come to an end, 
I'll tak' you to mine ain countrie." 

Then whan he cam' to Glasgow town, 
A happy, happy, man was he ; 

The ladies a' around him thrang'd, 
To see him come frae slaverie. 

His mother she had died o' sorrow, 

And a' his brothers were dead but ho j 

His lands they a' were lying waste, 
In ruins were his castles free. 

Na porter there stood at his yett ; 

.Na human creature he could see ; 
Except the screeching owls and bats, 

Had he to bear him companie. 

But gowd will gar the castles grow, 
And he had gowd and jewels free; 

And soon the pages around him thrang'd, 
To serve him on their bended knee. 

His hall was hung wi' silk and satin, 
His table rung wi' mirth and glee ; 

He soon forgot the lady fair, 
That lows'd him out o' slaverie. 

Lord Beichan courted a lady gay, 
To heir wi' him his lands sae free, 

Ne'er thinking that a lady fair 

Was on her way frae grand Turkie. 

For Susie Pye could get nae rest, 
Nor day nor nicht could happy be, 

Still thinking on the Scottish lord, 
Till she was sick and like to dee. 

But she has builded a bonnie ship, 

Weel mann'd wi* seamen o' hie degree; 

And secretly she stept on board, 
And bid adieu to her ain countrie. 

But whan she cam' to the Scottish shore, 
The bells were ringing sae merrilie; 

It wa9 Lord Beichan 's wedding day, 
Wi' a lady fair o' hie degree. 



Y?( X ~ 












K^ 












But sic a vessel was never seen, 

The very masts were tapp'd wi' gold ! 

Her sails were made o' the satin fine, 
Maist beautiful for to behold. 

But when the lady cam' on shore, 
Attended wi' her pages three, 

Her shoon were of the beaten gowd, 
And she a lady of great beautie. 

Then to the skipper she did say, 
" Can ye this answer gi'e to me — 

Where are Lord Beichan's lands sae braid * 
He surely lives in this countrie." 

Then up bespak' the skipper bold, 

(For he could speak the Turkish tongue,)— 
■v. " Lord Beichan lives not far away, 
This is the day of his wedding." 

"If ye will guide me to Beichan's yetts, 
I will ye well reward," said she, — 

Then she and all her pages went, 
A very gallant companie. 

When she cam' to Lord Beichan's yetts. 
She tirl'd gently at the pin, 
\6Y°) Sae ready was the proud porter 

To let the wedding guests come in. 

" Is this Lord Beichan's house," she says, 
" Or is that noble lord within ?" 
f_± " Yes, he is gane into the hall, 

With his brave bride, and monie ane." 

" Ye'll bid him send me a piece of bread, 
Bot and a cup of his best wine ; 

And bid him mind the lady's love 

That ance did lowse him out o' pyne." 

Then in and cam' the porter bold, 

I wat he gae three shouts and three, — 
§£ " The fairest lady stands at your yetts, 
That ever my twa een did see." 

Then up bespak' the bride's mither, 
I wat an angry woman was she, — 

" You micht ha'e excepted our bonnie bride, 
Tho' she'd been three times as fair as she." 

//\5\ " My dame, your daughter's fair enough, 
[ , = J And aye the fairer mot she be ! 

/-- But the fairest time that e'er she was, 
She'll na compare wi' this ladie. 



' She has a gowd ring on ilka finger, 

And on her mid-finger she has three ; 
She has as meikle gowd upon her head, 
As wad buy an earldom o' land to thee. 

" My lord, she begs some o' your bread, 
Bot and a cup o' your best wine, 

And bids you mind the lady's love 
That ance did lowse ye out o' pyne." 

Then up and started Lord Beichan, 

I wat he made the table flee, — 
" I wad gi'e a' my yearlie rent 

'Twere Susie Pye come owre the sea." 

Syne up bespak' the bride's mither y — 
She was ne'er heard to speak sae free, — 

" Ye'll no forsake my ae dochter, 

Though Susie Pye has cross'd the sea ?" 

" Tak' hame, tak' hame, your dochter, madam, 
For she is ne'er the waur o' me ; 

She cam' to me on horseback riding, 

And she sail gang hame in chariot free." 

He's tane Susie Pye by the milk-white hand, 
And led her through his halls sae hie, — 

" Ye're now Lord Beichan's lawful wife, 
And thrice ye're welcome unto me." 

Lord Beichan prepar'd for another wedding, 
Wi' baith their hearts sae fu' o' glee; — 

Says, " I'll range nae mair in foreign lands, 
Sin' Susie Pye has cross'd the sea. 

" Fy ! gar a' our cooks mak' ready ; 

And, fy ! gar a' our pipers play ; 
And fy ! gar trumpets gae through the toun, 

That Lord Beichan's wedded twice in a 



fj 



§9 






¥«ng %zku< 



[From Jamieson's Collection. See Note to 
previous Ballad.] 

Young Beckie was as brave a knight 

As ever sail'd the sea; 
And he's duen him to the court o' France, 

To serve for meat and fee. 








^§^ 



(/<Q>M} 






V&L 



He hadna been in the court o' France 

A twelvemonth nor sae lang, 
Till he fell in love \vi' the king's daughter, 

And was thrown in prison Strang. 

The king he had but ae daughter, 

Burd Isbel was her name ; 
And she has to the prison gane, 

To hear the prisoner's mane. 

" gin a lady wad borrow me, 

At her stirrup I wad rin ; 
gin a widow wad borrow me, 

I wad swear to be her son. 

" gin a virgin wad borrow me, 

I wad wed her wi' a ring ; 
I'd gi'e her ha's, I'd gi'e her bowers, 

The bonnie towers o ! Linne." 

barefoot barefoot gaed she but, 

And barefoot cam' she ben ; 
It was na for want o' hose and shoon, 

Nor time to put them on ; 

But a* for fear that her father 

Had heard her makin* din ; 
For she's stown the keys of the prison, 

And gane the dungeon within. 

And when she saw him, young Bekie, 

Wow, but her heart was sair ! 
For the mice, but and the bauld rations, 

Had eaten his yellow hair. 

She's gotten him a shaver for his beard, 

A comber till his hair; 
Five hundred pound in his pocket, 

To spend, and nae to spare. 

She's gi'en him a steed was good in need, 

And a saddle o' royal bane ; 
A leash o' hounds o' ae litter, 

And Hector called ane. 

Atween thir twa a vow was made, 

'Twas made full solemlie, 
That or three years were come and gane, 

Weel married they should be. 

He hadna been in's ain countrie 

A twelvemonth till an end, 
Till he's forced to marry a duke's daughter 

Or than lose a' his land. 






w 



" Ochon, alas !" says young Btkie, 

" I kenna what to dee ; 
For I canna win to Burd Isbel, 

And she canna come to me." 

O it fell out upon a day 

Burd Isbel fell asleep, 
And up it starts the Billy Blin, 

And stood at her bed feet. 

" waken, waken, Burd Isbel ; 

How can ye sleep so soun' ; 
When this is Bekie's wedding day, 

And the marriage gaing on ? 



" Ye do ye till your mither's bower, 

As fast as ye can gang ; VS p= 

And ye tak' three o* your mither's Marys, /^^" 

To haud ye unthocht lang. %. & \ 

" Ye dress yoursel' i' the red scarlet, : ^sjT 

And your Marys in dainty green ; ( -^ 

And ye put girdles about your middle ^$5 

Wad buy an earldome. V / 

'* Syne ye gang down by yon sea-side, V^=£. 

And down by yon sea-strand; 
And bonnie will the Hollans boats 

Come rowin' till your hand. 

" Ye set your milk-white foot on board, 

Cry, * Hail ye, Domine !' 
And I will be the steerer o't, 

To row you o'er the sea." 

She's ta'en her till her mither's bower, /~| 

As fast as she could gang; 

And she's ta'en twa o' her mither's Marys, yi? 

To haud her unthocht lang. f\o 

She's drest hersel' i' the red scarlet, 

Her Marys i' the dainty green ; l^g^ 

And they've put girdles about their middle \ ~~z } 

Would buy an earldome. W*"s 

And they gaed down by yon sea-side, (2 '_= 

And down by yon sea-strand ; 

And sae bonnie as the Hollans boats st^' 

Come rowin' till their hand. PR) 

She set her milk-white foot on board, /C"^ 

Cried, " Hail ye, Domine 1" 
And the Billy Blin was the steerer o't, 

To row her o'er the sea. 




Qj^J£0\Mz 



"Whan she cam* to young Bekie's gate, 

She heard the music play; 
And her mind misga'e by a' she heard, 

That 'twas his wedding day. 

She's pitten her hand in her pocket, 

Gi'en the porter markis three ; 
"Hae, take ye that, ye proud porter, 

Bid your master speake to me." 

whan that he cam' up the stair, 

He fell low down on his knee : 
He hail'd the king, and he hail'd the queen, 

And he hail'd him young Bekie. 

"01 have been porter at your gates 

This thirty years and three ; 
But there are three ladies at them now, 

Their like I did never see. 

" There's ane o' them drest in red scarlet, 

And twa in dainty green ; 
And they ha'e girdles about their middles 

Would buy an eaxldome." 

Then out and spak' the bierdly bride, 

Was a" goud to the chin ; 
" Gin she be fine without," she says, 

" We's be as fine within." 

Then up it starts him, young Bekie, 

And the tear was in his e'e : 
u I'll lay my fife it's Burd Isbel 

Come o'er the sea to me." 

quickly he ran down the stair ; 

And whan he saw 'twas she, 
He kindly took her in his arms, 

And kist her tenderlie. 

" O ha'e ye forgotten now, young Bekie, 

The vow ye made to me, 
When I took you out of prison Strang, 

When ye was condemned to dee ? 

•' I ga'e you a steed was good in need, 

And a saddle o' royal bane ; 
A leash o' hounds o' ae litter; 

And Hector called ane." 

It was well kent what the lady said, 

That it was nae a lie ; 
For at the first word the lady spak', 

The hound fell at her knee. 



A blessing gang her wi' 

For I maun marry my Burd Isbel, 

That's come o'er the sea to me." 

" Is this the custome o' your house, 
Or the fashion o' your land, 

To marry a maid in a May morning, 
And send her back a maid at e'en ?* 



w 



[Stall copies of MayColvin or Collean, under 
the title of " The Western Tragedy," exist of a 
date at least as far back as the middle of the 
last century. From these the ballad found its 
way into Herd's collection, and is reprinted by 
Motherwell with some alterations from a recited 
version. "The ballad finds locality," says Mr 
Chambers, " in that wild portion of the coast of 
Carrick, (Ayrshire.) which intervenes betwixt 
Girvan and Ballantrae. Carlton Castie, about 
two miles to the south of Girvan, (a tall old ruin 
situated on the brink of a bank which overhangs 
the sea, and which gives title to Sir John Cath- 
cart, Bart, of Carlton,) is affirmed by the country 
pe-. pie, who still remember the story with great 
freshness, to have been the residence of 'the 
fause Sir John;' while a tall rocky eminence, 
called Gamsloup, overhanging the sea about two 
miles still farther south, and over which the 
road passes in a style terrible to all travellers, is 
pointed out as the place where he was in the 
habit of drowning his wives, and where he was 
finally drowned himself. The people, who look 
upon the ballad as a regular and proper record 
of an unquestionable fact, farther affirm that 
May Collean was a daughter of the family of 
Kennedy of Colzean, now represented by the 
Earl of Cassilis, and that she became heir to all 
the immense wealth which her husband had ac- 
quired by his former mal -practices, and accord- 
ingly lived happy all the rest of her days." We 
give here, first, the ballad as it appears in 
Motherwell, which differs little from Herd's 
version. We also give Mr Buchan's version, 
which, though similar in incident, is almost to- 
^tally different in language from the others.] 



m 



im 



v^vtw 



>i 



fed 



% 










False Sir John a wooing came, 
To a maid of beauty fair ; 

May Colvin was the lady's name, 
Her father's only heir. 



He's courted her butt, and he's courted her ben, 
And he's courted her into the ha', 

Till once he got this lady's consent 
To mount and ride awa*. 

She's gane to her father's coffers, 

Where all his money lay ; 
And she's taken the red, and she's left the 

And so lightly as she tripped away, [white, 

She's gane down to her father's stable 
Where all his steeds did stand ; 

And she's taken the best and she's left the 
That was in her father's land. [warst, 

He rode on, and she rode on, 
They rode a lang simmer's day, 

Until they came to a broad river, 
An arm of a lonesome sea. 

" Loup off the steed," says false Sir John ; 

" Your bridal bed you see ; [here, 

For it's seven king's daughters I have drowned 
Zs'^J^ And the eighth I'll out make with thee. 

" Cast aff, cast aff your silks so fine, 
And lay them on a stone, 
if For they are o'er good and o'er costly 
To rot in the salt sea foam. 

g, |\ ** Cast aff, cast aff your holland smock, 
And lay it on this stone, 
For it is too fine and o'er costly 
To rot in the salt sea foam." 



'* O turn you about, thou false Sir John, 
And look to the leaf o' the tree ; 

For it never became a gentleman 
A naked woman to see." 

He's turned himself straight round about, 
"H,/ To look to the leaf o' the tree ; 
f yp/% She's twined her arms about his waist, 
And thrown him into the sea. 

" O hold a grip of me, May Colvin, 
For fear that I should drown ; 

I'll take you hame to your father's gate, 
And safely I'll set you down." 











" O lie you there, thou false Sir John, 

lie you there," said she, 

" For you lie not in a caulder bed 
Than the ane you intended for me." 

So she went on her father's steed, 

As swift as she could flee ; 
And she came hame to her father's gates 

At the breaking of the day. 

Up then spake the pretty parrot : 

" May Colvin, where have you been ? 

What has become of false Sir John, 
That wooed you so late yestreen ?" 

Up then spake the pretty parrot, 
In the bonnie cage where it lay: 

" what ha'e ye done with the false Sir John, 
That he behind you does 6tay ? 

"He wooed you butt, he wooed you ben, 

He wooed you into the ha', 
Until he got your own consent 

For to mount and gang awa'." 

" O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot, 

Lay not the blame upon me ; 
Your cage will be made of the beaten g old, 

And the spakes of ivorie." 

Up then spake the king himself, 

In the chamber where he lay: 
" Oh ! what ails the pretty parrot, 

That prattles so long ere day." 

" It was a cat cam' to my cage door ; 

1 thought 'twould have worried me 
And 1 was calling on fair May Colvin 

To take the cat from me." 



MAY COLYIN. 

[Buchan's version. See Note to the previous 
ballad. Binyan's Bay, mentioned in this ver- 
sion, was, Mr Buchan says, at the mouth of the 
river Ugie, where Peterhead now stands.] 

Heard ye ever of a bludy knight, 

Lived in the west countrie ? 
For he's betray'd seven virgins fair, 

And drowned them in the sea. 









SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



v 



29 



All ladies of a gude account, 

As ever yet were known ; 
This traitor was a barron knight, 

They call'd him fause Sir John. 

Then he is gane to May Colvin, 

She was her father's heir ; 
The greatest beauty o' that age, 

I solemnly declare. 

Thou art the darling of my heart, 

I say, fair May Colvin ; 
So far excells thy beauties great, 

That ever I ha'e seen. 

But I'm a knight of wealth and might, 
Ha'e towers, towns twenty -three; 

And ye'se be lady o' them a', 
If ye will gang wi' me. 

Excuse me then, gude Sir John, 

To wed I am too young ; 
Without ye ha'e my parents' leave, 

With you I darna come. 

Your parents' leave ye soon shall have, 

To this they will agree ; 
For I ha'e made a solemn vow, 

This night ye'se gang wi' me. 

Frae below his arm he's pull'd a charm, 

And stuck it in her sleeve ; 
And he has made her gang wi' him, 

Without her parents' leave. 

Much gowd and siller she has brought, 

Wi' her five hundred pound ; 
The best an' steed her father had, 

She's ta'en to ride upon. 

Sae privately they rade away, 
They made nae stop nor stay; 

Till they came to that fatal end, 
That ye ca' Binyan's bay. 

It being in a lonely place, 

Nae habitation nigh ; 
The fatal rocks were tall and steep, 

And nane could hear her cry. 

Light down, light down, fair Mary Colvin, 
Light down, and speak wi' me ; 

For here I've drown'd eight virgins brave, 
And you the ninth maun be. 



Are these your bowers and lofty towers, 

Sae beautiful and gay ? 
Or is it for my gold, she says, 

You take my life away ? 

Cast aff, cast aff your jewels fine, 

Sae costly, rich, and rare ; 
For they're too costly, and too fine, 

To sink in the sea ware. 

Then aff she's ta'en her jewels fine, 
And thus she made her mean ; 

Ha'e mercy on a virgin young, 
I pray you, gude Sir John ! 

Cast aff, cast aff, fair May Colvin, 

Your gown and petticoat ; 
For they're too costly, and too fine, 

To rot by the 3ea rock. 

Take all I have my life to save, 

O gude Sir John, I pray; 
Let it ne'er be said you killed a maid, 

Before her wedding day. 

Strip aff, strip aff, your Holland smock, 
That's border'd wi' the lawn ; 

For it's too costly, and too fine, 
To toss on the sea sand. 

O turn ye round, gude Sir John, 

Your back about to me ; 
It is not comely for a man 

A naked woman to see. 

But, as Sir John he turn'd him round, 

She threw him in the sea ; 
Says, Lye ye there, ye fause Sir John, 

For ye thought to lye wi' me. 

lye ye there, ye traitor fause, 
For ye thought to lye wi' me; 

Although ye stript me to the skin, 
Ye'se get your claise wi' thee. 

Then on she puts her jewels fine, 

Sae costly, rich, and brave ; 
And then wi' speed she mounts her steed, 

Sae well's she did behave. 

This maiden fair being void of fear, 
The steed was swift and free; 

And she has reach'd her father's house 
Before the clock struck three. 















§£r 



(m 



I f=-_ j First she call'd the stable groom, 
Vif^c Who was her waiting man ; 

^ (£\X As soon's he heard his lady's word, 
£ j>- He came wi' cap in han'. 

/^peJ Where hast thou been, fair May Colvin ? 

yTf^s Who owes this dapple gray ? 

Q^J It is a found ane, she replied, 

/ sL-gs That I got on the way. 

rPl J Then out it speaks the wylie parrot, 
Js-2^ Unto fair May Colvin ; 

r ^n\ What hast thou made o' fause Sir John, 
k_ 1^ That ye went wi' yestreen ? 

CWr%) O haud your tongue, my pretty parrot, 
^Sp\ And talk nae mair o' me ; 

f/wj For when ye got ae meal a-fore, 

My parrot, ye'se ha'e three. 

Then out it speaks her father dear, 
In the chamber where he lay ; 

What aileth thee, my pretty parrot, 
To chat sae lang ere day ? 

The cat she scratch'd at my cage door, 

The thief I couldna see ; 
And I am calling on May Colvin, 

To take the cat frae me. 

But first she tauld her father dear, 
The deed that she had done ; 

Likewise unto her mother dear, 
Concerning fause Sir John. 

If that be true, fair May Colvin, 
That ye ha'e tauld to me ; 

The morn, ere I eat or drink, 
This fause Sir John I'll see. 

Sae aff they went, wi' ae consent, 
By the dawning o' the day ; 

Until they came to Charlestown sands, 
And there his corpse it lay. 

His body tall, with that great fall, 
With waves t; ss'd to and fro, 

The diamond ring that he had en, 
Was broken in pieces two. 

They ha'e taken up his corpse 
To yonder pleasant green ; 

And there they buried fause Sir John, 
For fear he should be seen. 



>uz 



Ye ladies a', wherever you be, 
That read this mournful song ; 

I pray you mind on May Colvin, 
And think on fause Sir John. 

Aff they've ta'en his jewels fine, 

To keep in memory ; 
And sae I end my mournful sang, 

And fatal tragedy. 



[" This ballad," says Dr Percy, " is founded 
upon the supposed practice of the Jews in cruci- 
fying or otherwise murdering Christian children, 
out of hatred to the religion of their parents : a 
practice which hath been always alleged in excuse 
for the cruelties exercised upon that wretched 
people, but which probably never happened in a 
single instance. For, if we consider, on the one 
hand, the ignorance and superstition of the times 
when such stories took their rise, the virulent 
prejudices of the monks who record them, and 
the eagerness with which they would be catched 
up by the barbarous populace as a pretence for 
plunder; on the other hand, the great danger 
incurred by the perpetrators, and the inadequate 
motives they could have to excite thetn to a crime 
of so much horror; we may reasonably conclude 
the whole charge to b^ groundless and malicious. 
The ballad is probably built upon some Italian 
Legend, and bears a gr at resemblance to the 
Prioresse's Tale in Chaucer : the poet seems also 
to have had an eye to the known story of Hugh 
of Lincoln, a child said to have been there mur- 
dered by the Jews in the reign of Henry III." 

Different readings of the ballad are given in 
different collections, but the variations are not 
material. In some copies the title is " Sir Hugh 
or the Jew's Daughter;" in others, particularly fej 
Mr Jamieson s, who accompanies his copy by a W^/£ 
long and curious introduction on the state ol >^X" 
the Jews in the middle ages, it is called '* Hugh Oc^k 
of Lincoln." We follow here Motherwell's ver> 1 -^M 
sion , as we c- insider it, on the whole, the best.] /; j 

Ykstfud \y was brave Hallowday, 

And, above all days of the year, 
The schoolboys all got leave to play, 

And little Sir Hugh was there. 



(S 




He kicked the ball with his foot, 

And kepped it with his knee, 
And even in at the Jew's window, 

He gart the bonnie ba' flee. 

Out then came the Jew's daughter — 

" Will ye come in and dine ?" 
" I winna come in and I canna come in 

Till I get that ball of mine. 

*' Throw down that ball to me, maiden, 

Throw down the ball to me." 
" I winna throw down your ball, Sir Hug 

Till ye come up to me." 

She pu'd the apple frae the tree, 

It was baith red and green, 
She gave it unto little Sir Hugh, 

With that his heart did win. 

She wiled him into ae chamber, 

She wiled him into twa, 
She wiled him into the third chamber, 

An i that was waist o't a'. 

She took out a little penknife, 

Hung low down by her spare, 
She twined this young thing o' his life, 

And a word he ne'er spak' mair. 

And first came out the thick, thick blood, I 

And syne came out the thin. 
And syne came out the bonnie heart's blc od — 

There was nae mair within. 

She laid him on a dressing table, 

She dress'd him like a swine, 
Says, " Lie ye there, my bonnie Sir Hugh, 

Wi' ye're apples red and green." 

She nut him in a case of lead, 

"Says " Lie you there and sleep ;" 
She threw him into the deep draw-well 
Was fifty fathoms deep. 

A schoolboy walking in the garden, 

Did grievously hear him moan, 
He ran away to the deep draw-well 

And fell down on his knee, 

Says,'* Bonnie Sir Hugh, and pretty Sir Hugh, 

I pray you speak to me ; 
If you speak to any body in this world, 

I pray you speak to me." 



When bells were rung and mass was sung, 

And every body went hame, 
Then every lady had her son, 

But lady Helen had nane. 

She rolled her mantle her about, 

And sore, sore did she weep ; 
She ran away to the Jew's castle 

When all were fast asleep. 

She cries, " Bonnie Sir Hugh, O pretty Sir 
Hugh, 

I pray you speak to me ; 
If you speak to any body in this warld, 

I pray you speak to me."- 

" Lady Helen, if ye want your son, 

I'll tell you where to seek ; 
Lady Helen, if ye want your son, 

He's in the well sae deep." 

She ran away to the deep draw-well, 
And she fell down on her knee ; 

Saying, " Bonnie Sir Hugh, O pretty Sir 
Hugh, 
I pray ye speak to me, 

If ye speak to any body in the world, 
I pray ye speak to me." 

" Oh ! the lead it is wondrous heavy, mother, 

The well it is wondrous deep, 
The little penknife sticks in my throat, 

And I downa to ye speak. 

" But lift me out o' this deep draw-well, 
And bury me in yon church-yard ; 

Put a bible at my head, he says, 
And a testament at my feet, 

And pen and ink at every side, 
And I'll lie still and sleep. 

" And go to the back of Maitland town, 

Bring me my winding sheet; 
For it's at the back of Maitland town, 

That you and I shall meet." 

the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom, 
The broom that makes full sore, 

A woman's mercy is very little, 
But a man's mercy is more. 








W) 












[Modern Ballad. — James Hogg.] 

''Oh where have you been, bonnie Marley Reid, 
For mony a long night and day ? 

I have miss'd ye sair, at the Wanlock-head, 
And the cave o' the Louther brae. 

" Our friends are waning fast away, 
Baith frae the cliff and the wood ; 

They are tearing them frae us ilka day ; 
For there's naething will please but blood. 

" And, O bonnie Marley, I maun now 

Gi'e your heart muckle pain, 
For your bridegroom is a-missing too, 

And 'tis fear'd that he is taen. 

" We have sought the caves o' the Enterkin, 
And the dens o' the Ballybough, 

And a' the howes o' the Ganna linn ; 
And we wot not what to do." 

" Dispel your fears, good Marjory Laing, 

And hope all for the best, 
For the servants of God will find a place, 

Their weary heads to rest. 

" There are better places, that we ken o', 

And seemlier to be in, 
Than all the dens of the. Ballybough, 

Or howes o' the Ganna linn. 

" But sit thee down, good Marjory Laing, 

And listen a while to me, 
For 1 have a tale to tell to you, 

That will bring you to your knee : 

" I went to seek my own dear James 

In the cave o' the Louther brae, 
For I had some things, that of a' the world, 

He best deserved to ha'e. 

" I had a kebbuck in my lap, 

And a fadge o' the flour sae sma , 

A nd a sark 1 had made for his buirdly back, 
As white as the new-dri'en snaw. 

" 1 sought him over hill and dale, 

Shouting by cave and tree; 
liu, only the dell with its eiry yell, 

Aii answer return'd to me. 



ife "I sought him up, and I sought him down, 
And echoes return'd his name, 
Till the gloffs o' dread shot to my heart, 
And dirled through a' my frame. 

" I sat me down by the Enterkin, 

And saw, in a fearful line, 
The red dragoons come up the path, 

Wi' prisoners eight or nine •■ 

" And one of them was my dear, dear James, 

The flower of a' his kin'; 
He was wounded behind, and wounded before, 

And the blood ran frae his chin. 

" He was bound upon a weary hack, 
Lash'd both by hough and heel, 

And his hands were bound behind his back, 
Wi' the thumbkins of steel. 

" I kneel'd before that soldier band, 
In the fervour of inward strife, 

And I raised to Heaven my trembling hand, 
And begg'd my husband's life. 

" But all the troop laugh'd me to scorn, 

Making my grief their game ; 
And the captain said some words to me, 

Which I cannot tell for shame. 

" And then he cursed our Whiggish race, 
With a proud and a scornful brow, 

And bade me look at my husband's face, 
And say how I liked him now. 

" Oh, I like him weel, thou proud captain, 
Though the blood runs to his knee, 

And all the better for the grievous wrongs 
He has suffer'd this day frae thee. 

" But can you feel within your heart 

That comely youth to slay ? 
For the hope you have in Heaven, captain, 

Let him gang wi' me away ! 

" Then the captain swore a fearfu' oath, 
With loathsome jest and mock, 

That he thought no more of a Whiggamore's 
Than the life of a noisome brock. [life. 

" Then my poor James to the captain call'd, 
And he begg'd baith hard and sair, 

To have one kiss of his bonnif bride. 
Ere we parted for evermair. 



\m 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



33- 



* I'll do that for you/ said the proud captain, 

'And save you the toil to-day, 
And, moreover, I'll take her little store, 

To support you by the way.* 

" He took my bountith from my lap, 

And I saw, with sorrow dumb, 
That he parted it all among his men, 

And gave not my love one crumb. 

'Now, fare you well, my very bonnie bride,' 

Cried the captain with disdain ; 
' When I come back to the banks of Nith, 

I shall kiss you sweetly then. 

' Your heartiest thanks must sure be given, 

For what I have done to-day, — 
I am taking him straight on the road to heaven; 

And short will be the way !' 

" My love he gave me a parting look, 

And bless'd me ferventlye, 
And the tears they mix'd wi' his purple blood, 

And ran down to his knee." 

** What's this I hear, bonnie Marley Eeid ? 

How could these woes betide ? 
For blyther you could not look this day, 

Were your husband by your side. 

" One of two things alone is left, 

And dreadful the one to me ; 
For either your fair wits are reft, 

Or else your husband's free." 

'* Allay your fears, good Marjory Laing, 

And hear me out the rest ; 
You little ken what a bride will do, 

For the youth she likes the best i 

" I hied me home to my father's ha', 
And through a' my friends I ran, 

And I gather'd me up a purse o' gowd, 
To redeem my young goodman : 

" For I kenn'd the prelate lowns would weel 

My fair intent approve ; 
For they'll do far mair for the good red gowd, 

Than they'll do for Heaven above. 

" And away I ran to Edinburgh town, 

Of my shining treasure vain, 
To buy my James from the prison strong, 

Or there with him remain. ! 



"I sought through a' tr.e city jails, 

I sought baith lang and sair ; 
But the guardsmen turn'd me frae their doors,fc 
. And swore that he was not there. 

" I went away to the tyrant duke, 

Who was my love's judge to be, 
And I proffer'd him a' my yeilow store, 

If he'd grant his life to me. 

"He counted the red gowd slowly o'er, 

By twenties and by tens, 
And said I had taken the only means 

To attain my hopeful ends. 

' And now,' said he, ' your husband's safe ; 

You may take this pledge of me : 
And I'll tell you, fair one, where ye'll go 

To gain this certaintye, — 

' Gang west the street and down the Bow, 

And through the market place, 
And there you will meet with a gentleman, 

Of a tall and courteous grace ; 

' He is clad in ^ livery of the green, 

With a plume aboon his bree, 
And arm'd with a halbert, glittering sheen : 

Your love he will let you see.' 

" Marjory, never flew blythsome bird, 

So light out through the sky, 
As I flew up that stately street, 

Weeping for very joy. 

u Oh never flew lamb out o'er the lea, 
When the sun gangs o'er the hill, 

Wi' lighter, blyther steps than me, 
Or skipp'd wi' sic goodwill ; 

'' And aye I bless'd the precious ore, 

My husband's life that wan; 
And I even bless'd the tyrant duke, 

For a kind good -hearted man. 

" The officer I soon found out,— 

For he could not be mistook , 
But in all my life I never beheld 

Sic a grim and grousome look. 

" I ask'd him for my dear, dear James, 

With throbs of wild delight, 
And begg'd him in his master's name, 

To take me to his sight. 



" He ask'd me for bis true address, 
With a voice at which I shook ; 

For I saw that he was a cruel knave, 
By the terror of his look. 

1 ' I named the name with a buoyant voice, 

That trembled with ecstasye ; 
But the savage bray 'd a hideous laugh, 

Then turn'd and grinn'd at me. 

" He pointed up to the city wall : 

One look benumb'd my soul ; 
For there I saw my husband's head 

Fix'd high upon a pole ! 

K His yellow hair waved in the wind, 

And far behind did flee, 
And his right hand hang beside his cheek, — 

A waesome sight to see. 

" His chin hang down on open space, 

Yet comely was his brow, 
And his eyne were open to the breeze, — 

There was nane to close them now ! 

' What think you of your true love now ?' 

The hideous porter said ; 
( Is not that a comely sight to see, 

And sweet to a Whiggish maid ?' 

' Oh, haud your tongue, ye heartless slave, 

For I downa answer you ; 
He was dear, dear to my heart before, 

But never sae dear as now ! 

' I see a sight you cannot see, 

Which man cannot efface; 
1 see a ray of heavenly love 

Beaming on that dear face. 

1 And weel 1 ken yon bonnie brent brow 
Will smile in the walks on high, 

And yon yellow hair, all blood-stain'd now, 
Maun wave aboon the sky.' 

" But can ye trow me, Marjory dear ? 

In the might of heavenly grace, 
There was never a sigh burst frae my heart, 

Nor a tear ran o'er my face. 

" But I bless'd my God, who had thus seen meet 
To take him from my side, 
. To call him home to the courts above, 
sV And leave me a virgin bride." 



" Alack, alack, bonnie Marley Reid, 
That sie days we ha'e lived to see ! 

For siccan a cruel and waefu' tale 
Was never yet heard by me. 

" And all this time, I have, trembling, ween'd 
That your dear w'.ts were gone; 

For there is a joy in your countenance, 
Which I never saw beam thereon. 

"Then let us kneel with humble hearts, 

To the God whom we revere, 
Who never yet laid that burden on, 

Which he gave not strength to bear." 



[From Buchan's Ballads of the North, where 
it is called " Donald of the Isles," but the more 
usual title of the ballad is " Glasgow Peggy."] 

A bonnie laddie brisk and gay, 

A handsome youth sae brisk and gaddie; 
And he is on to Glasgow town, 

To steal awa' his bonnie Peggy. 

When he came into Glasgow town, 
Upon her father's green sae steady; 

" Come forth, come forth, old man," he says, 
" For I am come for bonnie Peggy." 

Out it spake her father then, 

" Begone from me, ye Highland laddie ; 
There's nane in a' the west country 

Bare steal from me my bonnie Peggy." 

" I've ten young men all at my back, 

That anee to me were baith true and steady ; 

If ance I call, they'll soon be nigh, 
And bring to me my bonnie Peggy." 

Out it spake her mother then, 

Dear but she spake wond'rous saucy ; 

Says, " Ye may steal my cow or ewe, 
But I'll keep sight o' my ain lassie." 

" Hold your tongue, old woman," he says, 
" Ye think your wit it is fu' ready ; 

For cow nor ewe I ever stole, 

But I will steal your bonnie Pegi?y." 







Then all his men they boldly came, 

That was to him baith true and steady; 

And through the ha' they quickly went, 
And forth they carried bonnie Peggy. 

Her father gae mony shout and cry, 

Her mother cursed the Highland laddie; 

But he heard them as he heard them not, 
But fix'd his eye on bonnie Peggy. 

He set her on his milk-white steed, 
And he himsel' on his grey naigie , 

Still along the way they rode, 
And he's awa' wi' bonnie Peggy. 

Says, " I wad gi'e baith cow and ewe, 
And sae would I this tartan plaidre, 

That I was far into the north, 

And alang wi' me my bonnie Peggy." 

As they rode down yon pleasant glen, 

For trees and brambles were right mony, 

There they met the Earl o' Hume, 

And his young son, were riding bonnie. 

Then out it spake the young Earl Hume, 
Dear but he spake wond'rous gaudie ; 

" I'm >vae to see sae fair a dame 

Riding alang wi' a Highland laddie. 1 ' 

" Hold your tongue, ye young Earl Hume, 
O dear but ye do speak right gaudie ; 

There's nae a lord in a' the south, 

Dare e'er compete wr a Highland laddie." 

Then he rade five miles through the north, 
Through mony hills sae rough and scroggie* 

Till they came down to a low glen, 
And he lay down wi' bonnie Peggy. 

Then he enclosed her in his arms, 

And row'd her in his tartan plaidie; [house, 
" There are blankets and sheets in my father's 

How have I lien down wi' a' Highland laddie! " 

Says he, " There are sheep in my father's fauld, 
And every year their wool is ready, 

By the same our debts we pay, 

Although I be but a Highland laddie. 

"There are fifty cows in my father's byre, 
That all are tyed to the stakes, and ready; 

Five thousand pounds I ha'e ilk year, 
Although 1 be but a Highland laddie. 



" My father has fifty well shod horse, 
Besides your steed and my grey naigie ; 

I'm Donald o' the Isle o' Sky, 

Why may not you be ca'd a lady ? 

" See ye not yon fine castle, 

On yonder hill that stands sae gaudie; 
And there we'll win this very night, 

Where ye'll enjoy your Highland laddie." 



[This genuine sample of the old humorous 
ballad was taken down from the recitation of a 
gentleman in Liddesdale, where it has long been 
popular. It is here first printed, with the excep- 
tion of a few copies for private distribution.] 

A fair young May went up the street, 

Some white fish for to buy ; 
And a bonnie clerk's fa'en in love wi' her, 

And he's followed her by and by — 
by; 

And he's followed her by and by. 

" O where live ye, my bonnie lass, 

I pray thee tell to me ; 
For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk, 

I wad come ^1 visit thee — 

thee; 

I wad come and visit thee." 

" O my father he aye locks the door, 

My mither keeps the key ; 
And gin ye were ever sic a wily wight, 

Ye canna win in to me — 

me; 

Ye canna win in to me." 

But the clerk he had ae true brother, 

And a wily wight was he ; 
And he has made a lang ladder 

Was thirty steps and three — 

three; 

Was thirty steps and three. 

He has made a cleek but and a creel — 

A creel but and a pin ; 
And he's away to the chimley-top, 

And he's letten the bonnie clerk in — 
in ; 

And he's letten the bonnie clerk in. 



The auld wife, being not asleep, 
Heard something that was said ; 

" I'll lay my life," quo' the silly auld wife, 
" There's a man i' our dochter's bed — 

bed; 
There's a man i' our dochter's bed." 

The auld man he gat owre the bed, 

To see if the thing was true ; 
But she's ta'en the bonnie clerk in her arms, 

And cover'd him owre wi' blue — 
blue; 

And cover'd him owre wi' blue. 

" where are ye gaun now, father," she says, 
" And where are ye gaun sae late ? 

Ye've disturb'd me in my evening prayers, 
And O but they were sweet — 

sweet ; 
And but they were sweet." 

" O ill betide ye, silly auld wife, 

And an ill death may ye die : 
She has the muckle buik in her arms, 

And she's prayin' for you and me — 
me; 

And she's prayin' for you and me." 

The auld wife being not asleep, 
Then something mair was said ; 

" I'll lay my life," quffnhe silly auld wife, 
**' There's a man i' our dochter's bed — 

bed; 
There's a man i* our dochter's bed." 

The auld wife she got owre the bed, 

To see if the thing was true ; 
But what the wrack took the auld wife's fit ? 

For into the creel she flew — 

flew; 

For into the creel she flew. 

The man that was at the chimley-top, 

Finding the creel was fu', 
He wrappit the rape round his left shouther, 

And fast to him he drew — 

drew; 

And fast to him he drew. 

" O help, O help, O hinny, now help ; 

O help, O hinny, now; 
For him that ye aye wished me to, 

He's carry in' me off just now — 

now ; 

He's carryin' me off just now.'' 



" O if the foul thief s gotten ye, 
I wish he may keep his haud ; 

For a' the lee lang winter nicht, 
Ye'll never lie in your bed — 




Ye'll never lie in your bed.' 



bed; 



He's towed her up, he's towed her down, 
He's towed her through an' through : 

" O Glide, assist," quo' the silly auld wife ; 
" For I'm just departin' now — 

now; 
For I'm just departin* now." 

He's towed her up, he's towed her down, 

He's gi'en her a richt down fa', 
Till every rib i' the auld wife's side 

Play'd nick nack on the wa' — 

wa'; 

Play'd nick nack on the wa'. 

O the blue, the bonnie, bonnie blue ; 
And I wish the blue may do weel : 
And every auld wife that's sae jealous o' her/ 
dochter, 
May she get a good keach i' the creel- 
creel ; 
May she get a gude keach i' the creel ! 



@1d* fhsgd Jbfrancss. 

[Modern Ballad, written by "William Oli- 
ver, of Langraw, in Roxburghshire, and here 
first printed.] 

There were twae lovers, lovers leal, 

Twae lovers leal and true ; 
But they wha love maist earnestly, 

Will oft the sairest rue. 

Oh sweet the time thae lovers dear 

Hid spend wi' ane another ; 
Wherever ane o' them might be, 

There surely was the other. 

And a' was fresh, and a' was fair, 
Oh fair baith e'en and morn ; 

They thought to pu' life's budding rose, 
And never find its thorn. 



A' care was lost— a' thought of woe ; 

Stern truth had changed his guise, 
O'er coloured by the glamourie 

That dwells in lovers' eyes. 

Oh passion fierce for earthly things, 
Whate'er these things may be, 

What tene and terror, want and woe, 
Thou gars puir mortals dree. 

The sun will set, the sand will run, 

And life will fleet away : 
Ane o' thir lovers curst his fate — 

His flower was turned to clay. 

The flower he cherished o'er a' things, 

Had withered in a day ; 
The maid he lo'ed 'boon earth and heaven, 

Fell death had borne away. 

He raged, and raved, and curst his fate ; 

Lay down and wished to dee, — 
" Oh who on earth has e'er been mocked — 

Has had a fate like me ? 

" Unfold, oh death, thy griesly ports ; 

Grim thief, give back my love. 
Oh, is there nought, that man may do, 

That shall thy pity move ?" 

All as he spoke, a twinkling star, 

Far in the welkin blue, 
Descended with a golden train, 

And near and nearer drew ; 

And, bright'ning as it nearer came, 

A form disclosed to sight, 
Reclining on a fleecy cloud, 

All steeped in heavenly light. 

Ah, well he knew that angel face, 
Though now, far fairer grown ; 

And brighter far the yellow hair, 
That hung her form adown. 

" 'Tis she ! 'tis she ! my lost! my love ! 

My life ! my heaven ! my all ! 
Come to my arms ! I did but dream 

Of death, and sable pall." 

" Give o'er," she said, "such wicked strife; 

Submit to heaven's decree; 
Thy impious pray'r can ne'er be heard ; 

I come no more to thee. 



" But, from my lattice in the sky, 

I'll look on thee below, 
And shed the choicest dews of heaven 

Upon thy fevered brow. 

"Submit ! repent!" — On this, again 

To heaven she soar'd away. 
" Oh stay," the frantic lover cried, 

" Oh stay, my loved one, stay !" 

Again he curst with frantic rage 

The wierd he had to dree, 
Again he cried, " Whoe'er was mocked, 

Or had a fate like me ?" 

When lo ! a red and lurid star 
Approached to where he stood ; 

The shades of night were dimly lit, 
And tinged with hue of blood. 

There stood a figure palled in cloud, 
The wrack of thunder storm, 

And aye by fits the writhing mass 
Disclosed a half-seen form. 

The earth did groan. Each living thing 

Fled fast, and far away — 
" What would you gi'e to gain your love, 

Now tell me, child of clay t 5 " 

" I'd gi'e the world, if it were mine, 
Oh mair than e'er was given : 

I'd gi'e, to ha'e my true love back, 
Earth's hopes— the joys of heaven." 

The echo shrunk, sae drear the yell 

That burst into her caves. 
'Twas like a sound to wake the dead, 

And rouse them frae their graves. 

The night-clad lake moved in its depths, 
And heaved frae shore to shore, 

And rolled its flood in one wide wave, 
And gave one sullen roar. 

That dread unearthly yell has ceased, 

And all again is still ; 
Gone is the fiend, and gone the man 

That wouldna' bend his will. 

The raven croaks above yon glen, 

And views a mangled prey, 
Then soars aloft, in eager haste, 

And hies him fast away. 






'Tis there he lies, 'mong jagged rocks, 
That lost — misguided one. 

The mother, on whose breast he lay, 
Might fail to know her son. 



[From Mr Buehan's Ballads. A fragment of 
this previously appeared in Mr Jamieson's col- 
lection, under the title of " Willie and May 
Margaret." The catastrophe of this rude but 
pathetic ballad, it will be seen, is brought about 
through means similar to those used in " Fair 
Annie of Lochryan" — the deception, namely, of 
a mother answering in the voice of a lover.] 

Willie stands in his stable door, 

And clapping at his steed ; 
And looking o'er his white fingers, 

His nose began to bleed. 

" Gi'e corn to my horse, mother, 

A.nd meat to my young man ; 
And I'll awa' to Meggie's bower, 

I'll win ere she lie down." 

" O bide this night wi' me, Willie, 

bide this night wi* me ; 
The best an' cock o' a' the reest 

At your supper shall be." 

" A' your cocks, and a' your reests, 

1 value not a prin ; 

For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower, 
111 win ere she lie down." 

" Stay this night wi' me, Willie, 

stay this night wi' me ; 
The best an' sheep in a' the flock 

At your supper shall be." 

" A' your sheep, and a' your flocks, 

1 value not a prin ; 

For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower, 
I'll win ere she lie down." 

" an' ye gang to Meggie's bower, 

Sae sair against my will ; 
The deepest pot in Clyde's water, 

My malison ye's feel. 



" The guid steed that I ride upon, 
Cost me thrice thretty pound ; 

And I'll put trust in his swift feet, 
To ha'e me safe to land." 

As he rade ower yon high, high hill, 

And down yon dowie den, 
The noise that was in Clyde's water 

Would fear'd five huner men. 

" O roai'ing Clyde, ye roar ower loud, 
Your streams seem wond'rous Strang , 

Make me your wreck as I come back, 
But spare me as I gang." 

Then he is on to Meggie's bower, 

And tirled at the pin ; 
" sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie," he said, 

" Ye'll open, lat me come in." 

" wha is this at my bower door, 
That calls me by my name ?" 

" It is your first love, sweet Willie, 
This night newly come hame." 

" I ha'e few lovers thereout, thereout, 

As few ha'e I therein ; 
The best an' love that ever I had, 

Was here just late yestreen." 

" The warstan stable in a' your stables, 

For my puir steed to stand ; 
The warstan bower in a' your bowers, 

For me to he therein : 
My boots are fu' o' Clyde's water, 

I'm shivering at the chin." 

"My barns are fu' o' corn, Willie, 

My stables are fu' o' hay ; 
My bowers are fu' o' gentlemen, 

They'll nae remove till day." 

" fare-ye-well, my fause Meggie, 

O farewell, and adieu; 
I've gotten my mither's malison, 

This night coming to you." 

As he rode ower yon high, high hill, 

And down yon dowie den; 
The rushing that was in Clyde's water, 

Took Willie's cane frae him. 

He lean'd him ower his saddle bow, 

To catch his cane again ; 
The rushing that was in Clyde's water, 

Took Willie's hat frae him. 






He lean'd him ower his saddle bow. 
To catch his hat through force ; 

The rushing that was in Clyde's water, 
Took Willie frae his horse. 

His brither stood upo' the bank, 
Says, " Fye, man, will ye drown ? 

Yell turn ye to your high horse head, 
And learn how to sowm." 

" How can I turn to my horse head, 

And learn how to sowm ? 
I've gotten my mither "s malison, 

It's here that I maun drown !" 

The very hour this young man sank 

Into the pot sae deep, 
Up waken'd his love, Meggie, 

Out o' her drowsy sleep. 

" Come here, come here, my mither dear, 
And read this dreary dream ; 

I dream'd my love was at our yates, 
And nane wad let hirn in." 

" Lye still, lye still now, my Meggie, 

Lye still and tak' your rest; 
Sin' your true love was at our yates, 

It's but twa quarters past." 

Nimbly, nimbly, raise she up, 

And nimbly pat she on ; 
And the higher that the lady cried, 

The louder blew the win'. 

The first an' step that she stepp'd in, 

She stepped to the queet ; 
" Ohon, alas !" said that lady, 

" This water's wond'rous deep." 

The next an' step that she wade in, 

She wadit to the knee ; 
Says she, " I could wade farther in, 

If I my love could see." 

The next an' step that she wade in, 

She wadit to the chin ; 
The deepest pot in Clyde's water 

She got sweet Willie in. 

" You've had a cruel mither, Willie, 

And I have had anither ; 
But we shall sleep in Clyde's water, 

Like sister an' like brither." 



§bix 3Jaim^ tit few. 

[The present copy of the original ballad of 
Sir James the Rose is given chiefly from oral re- 
citation, compared with Motherwell's and other 
versions. — '* This old north country ballad," says 
Motherwell, " which appears to be founded on 
fact, is well known in almost every corner of 
Scotland. Pinkerton printed it in his Tragic 
Ballads, 1781, 'from,' as he says, 'a modern 
edition in one sheet 12mo, after the old copy.' 
Notwithstanding this reference to authority, the 
ballad certainly received a few conjectural emen- 
dations frum his own pen ; at least, the present 
version, which is given as it occurs in early stall 
prints, and as it is to be obtained from the reci- 
tations of elderly people, does not exactly cor- 
respond with his. Two modern ballads have 
sprung out of this old one, namely, Sir James 
the Ross, and Elfrida and Sir James of Perth. 
The first of these is said to have been written by 
Michael Bruce ; the later is an anonymous pro- 
duction, and has found its way into Evans' Col- 
lection— vide Vol. IY. Edin. 1810. It might be 
curious to ascertain which of these mournful 
ditties is the senior, were it for nothing else 
than perfectly to enjoy the cool impudence with 
which the graceless youngster has appropriated 
to itself, without thanks or acknowledgment, al{ 
the best things which occur in the other."] 

O heard ye o' Sir James the Rose, 
The young heir o' Buleichan ? 

For he has killed a gallant squire, 
Whase friends are out to tak' him. 

Now he's gane to the house of Mar, 
Whar the nourice was his leman ; 

To seek his dear he did repair, 

Weening she might befriend him. 

"Whare are ye gaun, Sir James. 3 " si 
said; 

" Or wharawa are ye riding ? " 
" Oh, I am bound to a foreign land, 

And now I'm under hiding 

" Whar sail I gae, whar sail I rin, 

Whar sail 1 rin to stay me . J 
For I ha'e kill'd a gallant squire, 

And his friends they seek to slay me," 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" gae ye down to yon ale-house; 

I sail pay there your lawin' ; 
And as I am your leman true, 

I'll meet you at the dawin'." 

'* I'll no go down to yon ale-house 

For you to pay my lawin' ; 
There's forty shillings for one supper, 

I'll stay in't till the dawin'." 

He turned him richt and round about, 
And rowed him in his brechan ; 

And laid him down to tak' a sleep, 
In the lawlands o' Buleichan. 

He has na weel gane out o' sight, 
Nor was he past Milstrethen, 

When four-and-twenty beltit knichts 
Cam' riding ower the Lethan. 

" O ha'e ye seen Sir James the Rose, 
The young heir o' Buleichan ? 

For he has killed a gallant squire, 
And we are sent to tak' him." 

" Yes, I ha'e seen Sir James," she said ; 

" He passed by here on Monday ; 
Gin the steed be swift that he rides on, 

He's past the heichts o' Lundie." 

But as wi' speed they rode away, 
She loudly cried behind them, 

" Gin ye'll gi'e me a worthy meed, 
I'll tell ye wh»r to find him."* 

" O tell, fair maid, and, on our band, 
Ye'se get his purse and brechan." 

" He's in the bank abune the mill, 
In the lands o' Buleichan. 

" Ye must not a-wake him out of sleep, 
Nor in the least affright him ; 

But through his heart ye'll run a dart, 
And through the body pierce him." 

They sought the bank abune the mill, 
In the lowlands of Buleichan, 

And there they found Sir James the Rose, 
Lying sleeping in his brechan. 



• Another reading — 

As they rode on man after man, 

Then she cried out behind them, 

•' If you do seek Sir James the Kose, 

I'll tell you where you'll find him." 



Then out and spak' Sir John the Grseme, 
Wha had the charge a-keeping, 

" It's ne'er be said, my stalwart feres, 
"We killed him when a-aleeping." 

They seized his broadsword and his targe, 
And closely him surrounded ; 

And when he wakened out of sleep, 
His senses were confounded.f 

" O pardon, pardon, gentlemen — 

Have mercy now upon me." 
" Sic as ye gae, sic ye sail ha'e, 

And so we fall upon thee." 

" Donald, my man, wait till I fa', 

And ye sail get my brechan : 
Ye'll get my purse, though fu' o' gowd, 

To tak' me to Loch Lagan." 

Syne they took out his bleeding heart, 

And set it on a speir; 
Then took it to the house o' Mar, 

And show'd to his deir. 

" "We couldna gi'e ye Sir James's purse, 
Nor yet could we his brechan ; 

But ye sail ha'e his bleeding heart, 
But and his bloody tartan." 

" Sir James the Rose, oh, for thy sake, 

My heart is now a-breaking ; 
Cursed be the day 1 wrocht thy wae, 

Thou brave heir o' Buleichan !" 

Then up she rase, and furth she gaes; 

And, in that hour o' tein, 
She wandered to the dowie glen, 

And never mair was seen. 

But where she went was never kent; 

And so, to end the matter, 
A traitor's end you may depend 

Can never be no better. 



f Another reading — 

They seized his braids word and his targe* 

And closely him surrounded : 

"O mercy, mercy, gentlemen!" 

He then fu' loudiy bounded. 

» Sic a 



SIR JAMES THE ROSE. 

[This very popular modern ballad is said to 
I have been written by Michael Bruce, (born 
' 1746; died 1767,) whose life is so touchingly 
I commemorated in " The Mirror."] 

Op all the Scottish northern chiefs, 

Of high and warlike name, 
The bravest was Sir James the Rose, 

A knicht of meikle fame. 

His growth was as the tufted fir, 
That crowns the mountain's brow ; 

And, waving o'er his shoulders broad, 
His locks of yellow flew. 

The chieftain of the brave clan Ross, 

A firm undaunted band ; 
Five hundred warriors drew their sword, 

Beneath his high command. 

In bloody fight thrice bad he stood, 

Against the English keen, 
Ere two and twenty opening springs 

This blooming youth had seen. 

The fair Matilda dear he loved, 

A maid of beauty rare ; 
Ev'n Margaret on the Scottish throne 

Was never half so fair. 

Lang had he wooed, lang she refused, 
With seeming scorn and pride ; 

Yet aft her eyes confessed the love 
Her fearful words denied. 

At last she blessed his well-tried faith, 

Allowed his tender claim : 
She vowed to him her virgin heart, 

And owned an equal flame. 

Her father, Buchan's cruel lord, 

Their passion disapproved ; 
And bade her wed Sir John the Graeme, 

And leave the youth she loved. 

Ae nicht they met, as they were wont, 

Deep in a shady wood, 
Where, on a bank beside a burn, 

A blooming saugh-tree stood. 



Concealed among the undenrood, 

The crafty Donald lay, 
The brother of Sir John the Graeme ; 

To hear what they would say. 

When thus the maid began : " My sire 

Your passion disapproves, 
And bids me wed Sir John the Graeme; 

So here must end our loves. 

" My father's will must be obeyed ; 

Nocht boots me to withstand ; 
Some fairer maid, in beauty's bloom, 

Must bless thee with her hand. 

" Matilda soon shall be forgot, 

And from thy mind effaced: 
But may that happiness be thine, 

Which I can never taste." 

" What do I hear ? Is this thy vow ?" 

Sir James the Rose replied : 
" And will Matilda wed the Graeme, 

Though sworn to be my bride ? 

" His sword shall sooner pierce my heart 

Than reave me of thy charms." 
Then clasped her to his beating breast, 

Fast lock'd into his arms. 

" I spake to try thy love," she said ; 

" I'll ne'er wed man but thee : 
My grave shall be my bridal bed, 

Ere Graeme my husband be. 

" Take then, dear youth, this faithful kiss, 

In witness of my troth ; 
And every plague become my lot, 

That day I break my oath !" 

They parted thus: the sun was set: 

Up hasty Donald flies ; 
And, "Turn thee, turn thee, beardless youth !' 

He loud insulting cries. 

Soon turn'd about the fearless chief, 

And soon his sword he drew; 
For Donald's blade, before his breast, 

Had pierced his tartans through. 

" This for my brother's slighted love; 

His wrongs sit on my arm." 
Three paces back the youth retired, 

And saved himself from harm. 



F* 

^G 



Cgtf 



Returning swift, his hand he reared, 

Frae Donald's head above, 
And through the brain and crashing bones 

His sharp-edged weapon drove. 

He staggering reeled, then tumbled down, 

A lump of breathless clay : 
" So fall my foes !" quoth valiant Rose, 

And stately strode away. 

Through the green -wood he quickly hied, 

Unto Lord Buchan's hall; 
And at Matilda's window stood, 

And thus began to call : 

" Art thou asleep, Matilda dear r> 

Awake, my love, awake ! 
Thy luckless lover on thee calls, 

A long farewell to take. 

For I have slain fierce Donald Graeme ; 

His blood is on my sword : 
And distant are my faithful men, 

Nor can assist their lord. 

To Skye I'll now direct my way, 

Where my two brothers bide, 
And raise the valiant of the Isles, 

To combat on my side. ; ' 

" O do not so," the maid replies ; 

" With me till morning stay ; 
For dark and dreary is the night, 

And dangerous the way. 

All night I'll watch you in the park ■ 

My faithful page I'll send, 
To run and raise the Ross's clan, 

Their master to defend." 

Beneath a bush he laid him down, 
And wrapped him in his plaid ; 

While, trembling for her lover's fate, 
At distance stood the maid. 

Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale, 

Till, in a lonely glen, 
He met the furious Sir John Graeme, 

With twenty of his men. 

" Where go'st thou, little page ?" he said ; 

" So late who did thee send ?" 
' I go to raise the Ross's clan, 
Their master to defend ; 



" For he hath slain Sir Donald Graeme; 

His blood is on his sword : 
And far, far distant are his men, 

That should assist their lord." 

" And has he slain my brother dear ?" 

The furious Graeme replies : 
" Dishonour blast my name, but he 

By me, ere morning, dies ! 

" Tell me where is Sir James the Rose ; 

I will thee well reward." 
"He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park; 

Matilda is his guard." 

They spurred their steeds in furious mood, 

And scoured along the lee; 
They reached Lord Buchan's lofty towers, 

By dawning of the day. 

Matilda stood without the gate ; 

To whom the Graeme did say, 
" Saw ye Sir James the Rose last night ? 

Or did he pass this way ?" 

" Last day, at noon," Matilda said, 

" Sir James the Rose passed by : 
He furious pricked his sweaty steed, 

And onward fast did hie. 

" By this he is at Edinburgh, 

If horse and man hold good." 
" Your page, then, lied, who said he was 

Now sleeping in the wood." 

She wrung her hands, and tore her hair : /b^\ 

" Brave Rose, thou art betrayed ; rTfls' 

And ruined by those means," she cried, l=lr 
" From whence I hoped thine aid!" 

By this the valiant knight awoke ; 

The virgin's shrieks he heard ; 
And up he rose and drew his sword, 

When the fierce band appeared. 

" Your sword last night my brother slew; 

His blood yet dims its shine : 
And, ere the setting of the sun, 

Your blood shall reek on mine." 

"You word it well," the chief replied ; 

" But deeds approve the man : 
Set by your band, and, hand to hand, 

We'll try what valour can. 




'* Oft boasting hides a coward's heart ; 

My weighty sword you fear, 
Which shone in front of Flodden -field, 

When you kept in the rear." 

With dauntless step he forward strode, 

And dared him to the fight : 
But G-raeme gave back, and feared his arm ; 

For well he knew its might. 

Four of his men, the bravest four, 
Sunk down beneath his sword : 

But still he scorned the poor revenge, 
And sought their haughty lord. 

Behind him basely came the G-raeme, 

And pierc'd him in the side : 
Out spouting came the purple tide, 

And all his tartans dyed. 

But yet his sword quat not the grip, 

Nor dropt he to the ground, 
Till through his enemy's heart his steel 

Had forced a mortal wound. 

Graeme, like a tree with wind o'erthrown, 

Fell breathless on the clay ; 
And down beside him sank the Rose, 

And faint and dying lay. 

The sad Matilda saw him fall : 
C( Oh, spare his life !" she cried ; 

" Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life ; 
Let her not be denied !" 

Her well-known voice the hero heard ; 

He raised his death-closed eyes, 
And fixed them on the weeping maid, 

And weakly thus replies : 

" In vain Matilda begs the life, 

By death's arrest denied : 
My race is run — adieu, my love" — 

Then closed his eyes and died. 

The sword, yet warm, from his left side 

With frantic hand she drew : 
" I come, Sir James the Rose," she cried j 

" I come to follow you !" 

She leaned the hilt against the ground, 

And bared her snowy breast ; 
Then fell upon her lover's face. 

And sunk to endless rest. 



[Modern Ballad. — Allan Cunningham. — / 
From Cromek's "Remains of Nithsdale and v^j§^) 
Galloway Song," 1810.] ?N^\ 

There's a maid has sat o' the green merse side, ^HPT\ 

Thae ten lang years and mair; /"7§M 

And, every first nicht o r the new mune, 

She kames her yellow hair. <5^/T^ 

And aye, while she sheds the yellow burning /%f_]^[ 
gowd, k3F\ 

Fu' sweit she sings and hie; 
Till the fairest bird in the green wood |^^\ 

Is charmed wi' her melodie. 

But wha e'er listens to that sweet sang, 

Or gangs the fair dame te, 
Ne'er hears the sang o' the lark again, 

Nor waukens an earthlie e'e. 

It fell in about the sweet summer month, 

1' the first come o' the mune, 
That she sat o' the tap o' a sea-weed rock, 

A-kaming her silk locks doun. 

Her kame was o' the whitely pearl, 

Her hand like new-won milk ; 
Her bosom was like the snawy curd, 

In a net o' sea-green silk. 

She kamed her locks o wer her white shoulders, fe 

A fleece baith wide and lang ; 
And, ilka ringlet she shed frae her brows, \il 

She raised a lichtsome sang. 

I' the very first lilt o' that sweet sang, 

The birds forhood their young, Vj 

And they flew i' the gate o' the grey howlet, *=§ 
To listen to the sweet maiden. 

Ex 

I' the second lilt o' that sweet sang, faA 

O' sweetness it was sae fu', 
The tod lap up ower our fauld-dike, 

And dichtit his red-wat mou'. 

I' the very third lilt o' that sweet sang, (V 

Red lowed the new-woke moon ; vj 

The stars drappit blude on the yellow gowan M 

Sax miles round that maiden. [tap, rV 



44 



f ==^ " I ha'e dwalt on the Nith," quoth the young 
" Thae twenty years and three ; [Cowehill, 
But the sweetest sang I ever heard 
Comes through the greenwood to me. 

" 0, is it a voice frae twa earthlie lips, 

That maks sic melody ? 
It wad wyle the lark frae the morning lift, 

And weel may it wyle me !" 

" I dreamed a dreary dream, master, 

Whilk I am rad ye rede ; 
I dreamed ye kissed a pair o' sweet lips, 

That drapped o' red heart's -blude." 



CSl 




" Come, haud my steed, ye little foot-page, 

Shod wi' the red gowd roun' ; 
Till 1 kiss the lips whilk sing sae sweet:" 

And lichtlie lap he doun. 

" Kiss nae the singer's lips, master, 

Kiss nae the singer's chin ; 
Touch nae her hand," quoth the little foot- 

" If skaithless hame ye wad win. [page, 

" O, wha will sit in your toom saddle, 

O wha will bruik your gluve ; 
And wha will fauld your erled bride 

In the kindlie clasps o' luve?" 

He took aff his hat, a' gowd i' the rim, 

Knot wi' a siller ban' ; 
He seemed a' in lowe with his gowd raiment, 

As through the greenwood he ran. 

" The summer dew fa's saft, fair maid, 

Aneath the siller mune ; 
But eerie is thy seat i' the rock, 

Washed wi' the white sea faem. 

" Come, wash me wi' thy lilie-white hand, 

Below and 'boon the knee ; 
And I'll kame thae links o' yellow burning gowd, 

Aboon thy bonnie blue e'e. 

" How rosie are thy parting lips, 

How lilie-white thy skin ! 
And, weel I wat, thae kissing een 

Wad tempt a saint to sin !" 

'* Tak' aff thae bars and bobs o' gowd, 

Wi' thy gared doublet fine ; 
And thiaw me aff thy green mantle, 
Leafed wi' the siller twine. 



Syne cuist he aff his green mantle, 
Hemmed wi' the red gowd roun'; 

His costly doublet cuist he aff, 
Wi' red gowd flowered doun. 

" Now ye maun kame my yellow hair, 

Doun wi' my pearlie kame; 
Then rowe me in thy green mantle, 

And tak' me maiden hame. 

" But first come tak' me 'neath the chin; 

And, syne, come kiss my cheek; 
And spread my hanks o' watery hair, 

I' the new-moon beam to dreep." 

Sae first he kissed her dimpled chin. 

Syne kissed her rosie cheek ; 
And lang he wooed her willing lips, 

Like heather-hinnie sweet ! 

" if ye'll come to bonnie Cowehill, 

'Mang primrose banks to woo, 
I'll wash thee ilk day i' the new-milked milk, 

And bind wi' gowd your brou. 

" And, a' for a drink o' the clear water, 

Ye'se ha'e the rosie wine ; 
And, a' for the water-lilie white, 

Ye'se ha'e thae arms o' mine J" 

" But what will she say, your bonnie young 
Busked wi' the siller fine ; [bride, 

When the rich kisses ye keepit for her lips, 
Are left wi* vows on mine ?" 

He took his lips frae her red-rose mou', 
His arm frae her waist sae sma' ; 

" Sweet maiden, I'm in bridal speed- 
It's time I were awa'. 

" gi'e me a token o' luve, sweet may, 

A leil luve token true;" 
She crapped a lock o' her yellow hair, 

And knotted it round his brou. 

" Oh, tie it nae sae strait, sweet may, 

But wi' luve's rose-knot kyndes 
My heid is fu' o' burning pain; 

Oh, saft ye maun it bind." 




His skin turned a' o' the red-rose hue, 

Wi' draps o' bludie sweat; 
And he laid his head 'mans the water lilies : 

" Sweet maiden, I maun sleep." 

She tyed ae link o' her wat yellow hair, 

Abuue his burning bree ; 
Amang his curling haffet locks, 

She knotted knurl es three. 

She weaved ower his brow the white lilie, 
Wi' witch-knots mae than nine , 

" G-if ye were seven times bridegroom ower, 
This nicht ye shall be mine." 

O twice he turned his sinking head, 

And twice he lifted his e'e ; 
O twice he socht to lift the links 

Were knotted ower his bree. 

" Arise, sweet knicht ; your young bride waits, 

And doubts her ale will s mre ; 
And wistlie looks at the lilie- white sheets, 

Doun-spread in ladie-bouir." 

And she has prinned the broidered silk 

About her white hause "utine ; 
Her princely petticoat is on, 

Wi' gowd can stand its lane. 

He faintlie, slowlie turned his cheek, 

And faintlie lift his e'e ; 
And he strave to lowse the witching bands 

Abune his burning bree. 

Then took she up his green mantle, 

Of lowing gowd the hem ; 
Then took she up his silken cap, 

Rich wi' a siller stem ; 
And she threw them wi' her lilie hand 

Amang the white sea-faem, 

She took the bride-ring frae his finger, 

And threw it in the sea ; 
" That hand shall mense nae other ring 

But wi' the will o' me." 

She faulded him in her lilie arms, 

And left her pearlie kame : 
His fleecy locks trailed ower the sand, 

As she took the white sea-faem. 

First rase the star out ower the hill, 

And neist the lovelier moon ; 
While the beauteous bride o' Gallowa' 

Looked for her blythe bridegroom. 



Lythlie she sang, while the new mune rase, 

Blythe as a young bryde may, 
When the new mune lichts her lamp o' luve, 

And blinks the bryde away. 

" Nithsdale, thou art a gay garden, 

Wi' monie a winsome flouir ; 
But the princeliest rose in that gay garden 

Maun blossom in my bouir. 

" And I will keep the drapping dew 

Frae my red rose's tap ; 
And the balmy blobs o' ilka leaf 

I'll keep them drap by drap. 
And I will wash my white bosom 

A' wi' this heavenly sap." 

And aye she sewed her silken snood, 

And sang a bridal sang; 
But aft the tears drapt frae her e'e, 

Afore the grey morn cam'. 

The sun lowed ruddie 'mang the dew, 

Sae thick on bank and tree ; 
The plough-boy whistled at his darg, 

The milk -maid answered hie ; 
But the lovelie bryde o' Gallowa' 

Sat wi' a wat-shod e'e. 

Ilk breath o' wind 'mang the forest leaves 
She heard the bridegroom's tongue ; 

And she heard the brydal-coming lilt, 
In every bird that sung. 

She sat high on the tap tower stane ; 

Nae waiting may was there ; 
She lowsed the gowd busk frae her breist, 

The kame frae 'mang her hair; 
She wypit the tear-blobs frae her e'e, 

A.nd lookit lang and sair i 

First sang to her the blythe wee bird, 

Frae aff the hawthorn green ; 
' ' Lowse out the love-curls frae your hair, 

Ye plaited sae weel yestreen." 

And the speckled wood -lark, frae 'mang the 
O' heaven, came singing doun; [cluda 

" Tak' out thae bride-knots frae your hair, 
And let the locks hang down." 

" Come, byde wi' me, ye pair o' sweet birds, 

Come doun and bide wi' me; 
Ye sail peckle o' the bread, and drink o' the 

And gowd your cage sail be." [wine. 



5>4£/H 




She laid the bride-cake 'neath her head, 

And syne below her feet ; 
A nd laid her doun 'tween the lilie-white sheets, 

And soundly did she sleep ! 

It was in the mid hour o' the nicht, 

Her siller bell did ring ; 
And soun't as if nae earthlie hand 

Had pou'd the silken string. 

There was a cheek touched that ladye's, 

Cauld as the marble stane ; 
And a hand, cauld as the drifting snow, 

"Was laid on her breist-bane. 

" O, cauld is thy hand, my dear Willie, 

O, cauld, cauld is thy cheek ; 
And wring thae locks o' yellow hair, 

Frae which the cauld draps dreip." 

"0, seek another brydegroom, Marie, 

On thae bosom faulds to sleep ; 
My bryde is the yellow water-lilie, 

Its leaves my bridal sheet I" 



[First printed in Scott's Border Minstrelsy. 
— " This ballad," says Sir Walter, " has been 
popular in many parts of Scotland. It is chiefly 
given from Mrs Brown of Falkland's MSS. — 
The expression, 

' The boy stared wild like a gray goss hawk,' 
strongly resembles that in Hardyknute, 

' Norse e'en like gray goss hawk stared wild,' 
a circumstance which led the editor to make the 
strictest inquiry into the authenticity of the 
song. But every doubt was removed by the evi- 
dence of a lady of high rank, who not only recol- 
lected the ballad, as having amused her in in- 
fancy, but could repeat many of the verses : par- 
ticularly those beautiful stanzas from the 20th to 
the 25th. The editor is therefore compelled to 
believe, that the author of Hardyknute copied 
the old ballad ; if the coincidence be not altoge- 
ther accidental." — It is not unlikely but that the 
authoress of Hardyknute (Lady Warduw) also 
wrote Fause Foodrage. 




King Easter and king Wester, mentioned iu 
the first verse, " were probably," says Sir Wal- 
ter, "petty princes of Northumberland and 
Westmoreland. In the Complaynt of Scotland, 
an ancient romance is mentioned, under the 
title, ' How the king of Estmureland married 
the king's daughter of Westmureland,' which 
may possibly be the original of the beautiful le- 
gend of King Estmere, in the Reliques of An- 
cient English Poetry, vol. I. p. 62. 4th edit. 
From this it may be conjectured, with some de- 
gree of plausibility, that the independent king- 
doms of the east and west coast were, at an early 
period, thus denominated, according to the 
Saxon mode of naming districts from their rela- 
tive positions, as Essex, Wessex, Sussex. But 
the geography of the metrical romances sets all 
system at defiance ; and in some of these, as Cla- 
riodus and Meliades, Estmureland undoubtedly 
signifies the land of the Esterlings, or the Fle- 
mish provinces at which vessels arrived in three 
days from England, and to which they are re- 
presented as exporting wool. — "Vide Notes on the 
Tale of Kempion. On this subject (continues 
Sir Walter) I have, since publication of the first 
edition, been favoured with the following re- 
marks by Mr Ritson, in opposition to the opinion 
above expressed: — ' Estmureland and West- 
mureland have no sort of relation to Northum- 
berland and Westmoreland. The former was 
never called Eastmoreland, nor were there ever 
any kings of Westmoreland ; unless we admit 
the authority of an old rhyme, cited by Usher: — 



"'There is, likewise, a "king Estmere, of ( 
Spain," in one of Percy's ballads. 

" ' In the old metrical romance of Kyng Horn, 
or Horn Child, we find both Westnesse and Est- ' 
nesse; and it is somewhat singular, that two | 
places, so called, actually exist in Yorkshire at 
this day. But ness, in that quarter, is the name ' 
given to an inlet from a river. There is, how- I 
ever, great confusion in this poem, as Horn is 
called king sometimes of one country, and some- i 
times of the other. In the French original, \ 
Westir is said to have been the old name of 
Hirland, or Ireland ; which, occasionally ^t least, . 
j is called Westnesse, in the translation, in which 
I Britain is named Sudene ; but here, again, it is i 

inconsistent and confused. 
| " ' It is, at any rate, highly probable, that the , 
or story, cited in the Complaynt of Scotland, was a \ 



romance of King Horn, whether prose or verse ; ^ 
and consequently, that Estmureland and West- 

, mureland should there mean England and Ire- 
land ; though it is possible that no other instance 
can be found of these two names occurring with 

j the same sense."] 

King Easter has courted her for her lands, 

King Wester for her fee ; 
King Honour fbr her comely face, 

And for her fair bodie. 

They had not been four months married, 

As I have heard them tell, 
Until the nobles of the land 

Against them did rebel. 

And they cast kevils* them amang, 

And kevils them between ; 
And they cast kevils them amang, 

Wha suld gae kill the king. 

O some said yea, and some said nay, 

Their words did not agree ; 
Till up and got him Fause Foodrage 

And swore it suld be he. 

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, 

And a' men bound to bed, 
King Honour and his gay ladye 

In a hie chamber were laid. 

Then up and rase him, Fause Foodrage, 

When a' were fast asleep, 
And slew the porter in his lodge, 

That watch and ward did keep. 

O four-and-twenty silver keys 

Hang hie upon a pin , 
And aye, as ae door he did unlock, 

He has fastened it him behind. 



* Kevils. — Lots. Both words originally meant 
only a portion, or share of any thing.— Leges 
Burgorum, cap. 59, de lot, cut, or kavil. Statuta 
Gildae, cap. 20. Xullus emat lanam, &c. nisi 
ruerit confrater G-ildae, &c. Xeque lot neque 
cavil habeat cum aliquo confratre nostro. In 
both these laws, lot and cavil signify a share in 
trade.— Scott.— Motherwell says, that in an in- 
ventory belonging to an ancestor of his, dated 
i, the word occurs as a verb — to cavell — to cast 
lots. 



Then up and raise him, King Honour, 
Says, " What means a' this din ? 

Or what's the matter, Fause Foodrage, 
Or wha has loot you in ?" 

" ye my errand weel sail learn, 

Before that I depart.'' 
Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp, 

And pierced him to the heart. 

Then up and got the queen herser, 
And fell low down on her knee : 

" spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage ! 
For I never injured thee. 

" O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage ! 

Until I lighter be ! 
And see gin it be lad or lass, 

King Honour has left wi' me." 

" O gin it be a lass," he says, 

" Weel nursed it sail be ; 
But gin it be a lad bairn, 

He sail be hanged hie. 

" I winna spare for his tender age, 

Xor yet for his hie hie kin ; 
But soon as e'er he born is, 

He shall mount the gallows pin." 

four-and-twenty valiant knights 
Were set the queen to guard ! 

And four stood aye at her bouir door, 
To keep both watch and ward. 

But when the time drew near an end, 

That she suld lighter be, 
She east about to find a wile, 

To set her body free. 

O she has birled these merry young men 
With the ale but and the wine, 

Until they were as deadly drunk 
As any wild wood swine. 

" O narrow, narrow, is this window, 

And big, big, am I grown !" 
Yet through the might of Our Ladye, 

Out at it she has gone. 

She wandered up, she wandered down, 

She wandered out and in; 
And, at last, into the very swine's stythe, 

The queen brought forth a son. 






Then they cast kevils them amang, 
Which suld gae seek the queen ; 

And the kevil fell upon "Wise William, 
And he sent his wife for him. 

O when sbe saw Wise William's wife, 

The queen fell on her knee ; 
" Win up, win up, madam!" she says: 

" What needs this courtesie ?" 

" O out o' this I winna rise, 

Till a boon ye grant to me ; 
To change your lass for this lad bairn, 

King Honour left me wi'. 

" And ye maun learn my gay goss hawk 

Right weel to breast a steed ; 
And I sail learn your turtle dow 

As weel to write and read. 

'* And ye maun learn my gay gcss hawk 
To wield baith bow and brand ; 

And I sail learn your turtle dow 
To lay gowd wi' her hand. 

" At kirk and market when we meet, 

We'll dare make nae avowe, 
But — ' Dame, how does my gay goss hawk ?'* 

' Madam, how does my dow ?' " 

* This metaphorical language was customary 
among the northern nations. In 925, king Ad- 
elstein sent an embassy to Harold Harfagar, 
king of Norway, the chief of which presented 
that prince with an elegant sword, ornamented 
with precious stones. As it was presented by 
the point, the Norwegian chief, in receiving it, 
unwarily laid hold of the hilt. The English 
ambassador declared, in the name of his master, 
that he accepted the act as a deed of homage ; 
for touching the hilt of a warrior's sword was re- 
garded as an acknowledgment of subjection. 
The Norwegian prince, resolving to circumvent 
his rival by a similar artifice, suppressed his re- 
sentment, and sent, next summer, an embassy 
to Adelstein, the chief of which presented Haco, 
the son of Harold, to the English prince ; and, 
placing him on his knees, made the following 
declaration: — " Haraldus, Normannorum rex, 
amice te salutat; albamque hanc avem bene 
institutam mittit,utque melius deinceps erudias, 
postulat." The king received young Haco on 
his knees; which the Norwegian ambassador 
immediately accepted, in the name of his mas- 



When days were gane, and years came on, 
Wise William he thought lang ; 

And he has ta'en king Honour's son 
A-hunting for to gang. 

It sae fell out at this hunting, 

Upon a simmer's day, 
That they came by a fair castell, 

Stood on a sunny brae. 

" O dinna ye see that bonnie castell, 

Wi' halls and towers sae fair t 
Gin ilka man had back his ain, 

Of it you suld be heir." 

" How I suld be heir of that castell, 

In sooth I canna see ; 
For it belangs to Fause Foodrage, 

And he is na kin to me." 

" O gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, 
You would do but what is right ; 

For I wot he kill'd your father dear, 
Or ever ye saw the light. 

" And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage,) 
There is no man durst you blame ; 

For he keeps your mother a prisoner, 
And she daurna take ye hame." 

The boy stared wild like a gray goss hawk, 
Says — " What may a' this mean ?" 

" My boy, ye are king Honour's son, 
And your mother's our lawful queen." 

" O gin I be king Honour's son, 

By Our Ladye I swear, 
This night I will that traitor slay, 

And relieve my mother dear !" 

He has set his bent bow to his breast, 

And leaped the castell wa" ; 
And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage,] 

Wha loud for help 'gan ca\ 

" haud your tongue, now, Fause Foodragef 

Frae me ye shanna flee." 
Syne pierc'd him thro' the fause fause heartX 

And set his mother free. 

ter, as a declaration of inferiority ; according to f 
the proverb, " Is minor semper habetur, qui al- 
terius filium educat." — Pontoppidani "VestigiaJ 
Danor. vol. II. p. 67.— Scott. 



And he has rewarded Wise William 
Wi' the best half of his land; 

And sae has he the turtle dow, 
Wi' the truth o' his right hand. 



XriiU JLinWajp* 



[This is said to be a complete set of the old 
ballad of " Lizie Lindsay." It is taken from 
Buchan's Ballads of the North, and, like others 
in the same collection, abounds in north-country 
provincialisms, especially in the use of the/ for 
wh, as fa for rvha,faer for where; also sheen for 
shoon, seener for sooner, feel for fool, &c. King- 
caussie, mentioned in the ballad, is on the south 
bank of the Dee, and at one time belonged to the 
family of Drum. In Jamieson's Popular Bal- 
lads, an imperfect version of Lizie Lindsay is 
given, beginning, 

"Will ye go to the Highlands, Lizie Lindsay, 
Will ye go to the Hijhlands wi' me? 

Will ye go to the Highlands, Lizie Lindsay, 
And dine on fresh cruds and green whey ? 

But we need not quote it, as it is mostly incor- 
porated in Buchan's version. Burns sent the 
fine old air of Lizie Lindsay to Johnson's Mu- 
seum, and intended to have furnished words for 
it, but never went beyond the opening verse. A 
modern song, however, has been constructed on 
the subject, including that verse and three 
others. See Book of Scottish Song, p. 29. In 
Chambers' collection, the ballads of Lizie Lind- 
say and Lizie Baillie are incorporated into one, 
but we think without sufficient authority.] 

In Edinburgh lived a lady, 

Was ca'd Lizie Lindsay by name ; 

Was courted by mony fine suitors, 
And mony rich persons of fame. 

Though lords o* renown had her courted, 
Yet none her favour could gain. 

Then spake the young laird o' Kingcaussie, 
I And a bonnie young boy was he ; 

' * Then let me a year to the city, 
I'll come, and that lady wi' me." 

Then spake the auld laird o' Kingcaussie, 

A canty auld mannie was he ; 
' What think ye by our little Donald, 
e proudly and crousely cracks he ? 



But he's win a year to the city, 

If that I be a living man ; 
And what he can mak' o' this lady, 

We shall let him do as he can." 

He's stript aff his fine costly robes, 

And put on the single liverie ; 
With no equipage nor attendance, 

To Edinburgh city went he. 

Now there was a ball in the city, 

A ball o' great mirth and great fame ; 

And fa danced wi' Donald that day, 
But bonnie Lizie Lindsay on the green. 

" Will ye gang to the Hielands, bonnie Lizie ? \ 
Will ye gang to the Hielands wi' me ? 

Will ye leave the south country ladies, 
And gang to the Hielands wi' me ?" 

The lady she turned about, 

And answered him courteouslie ; 

" I'd like to ken faer I am gaun first, 
An fa I am gaun to gang wi'." 

" O, Lizie, ae favour I'll ask you, 

This favour I pray not denyj 
Ye'll tell me your place o' abode, 

And your nearest o' kindred do stay.' 

" Ye'll call at the Canogate port, 

At the Canogate port call ye ; 
I'll gi'e ye a bottle o' wine, 

And I'll bear you my companie." 

Syne he called at the Canogate port, 
At the Canogate port called he ; 

She ga'e him a bottle o' wine, 
And she ga'e him her companie. 

" Will ye gang to the Hielands, bonnie Liz'e ? 

Will ye gang to the Hielands wi' me ? 
Will ye leave the south country ladies, 

And gang to the Hielands wi' me ?" 

Then out spake Lizie's auld mither, 

For a very auld lady was she ; 
'* If ye cast ony creed on my doehter, 

High hanged I'll cause you to be." 

" keep hame your doehter, auld woman, 

And latna her gang wi' me ; 
I can cast nae mair creed on your doehter 

Nae mair than she can on me." 




«£M 




" Now, young man, ae question I'll ask you, 
Sin' ye mean to honour us sae ; 

Ye'll tell me how braid your lands lie, 
Your name, and faer ye ha'e to gae ?" 

" My father he is an auld soutter, 

My mither she is an auld dey ; 
And I' . but a puir broken trooper, 

My kindred I winna deny. 

" Yet I'm nae a man o' great honour, 
Nor am I a man o' great fame ; 

My name it is Donald M'Donald, 
I'll tell it, and winna think shame. 

" Will ye gang to the Hieland3, bonnie Lizie? 

Will ye gang to the Hielands wi' me ? 
Will you leave the south country ladies, 

And gang to the Hielands wi' me ?" 

' ' O, Donald, I'll gi'e you ten guineas, 
If you would but stay in my room ; 

Until that 1 draw your fair picture, 
To look on it fan I think lang." 

" No ; I carena mair for your guineas, 
Nae mair than ye care for mine ; 

But if that ye lore my ain person, 
Gaewi' me, maid, if ye incline." 

Then out spake Lizie's bower woman, 
And a bonnie young lassie was she ; 

" Though I was born heir to a crown, 
Young Donald, I would gang him wi'," 

Up raise then the bonnie young lady, 
And drew till her stockings and sheen ; 

And pack'd up her claise in fine bundles, 
And awa' wi' young Donald she's gane. 

The road9 they were rocky and knabby, 
The mountains were baith straitand stay; 

When Lizie grew wearied wi' travel, 
For she'd travell'd a very lang way. 

" turn again, bonnie Lizie Lindsay, 

O turn again," said he; 
" We're but ae day's journey frae town> 

turn, and I'll turn wi' thee." 

Out speaks the bonnie young lady, 
Till the saut tear blinded her e'e ; 

" Although I'd return to the city, 

There's nae person would care for me." 



When they cam* near the end o' their journey, 
To the house o' their father's milk dey • 

He said, " Stay still there, Lizie Lindsay, 
Till I tell my mither o' thee." 

•When he came into the shielen, 

She hailed him com teouslie ; 
Said, " Ye're welcome hame, Sir Dona'd, 

There's been mony ane calling for thee." 

" 0, ca' me nae mair, Sir Donald, 
But Donald M'Donald, your son; 

We'll carry the joke a bit farther, 

There's a bonnie young lady to come."' 

When Lizie came into the shielen, 
She look'd as if she'd been a feel ; 

She sawna a seat to sit down on, 
But only some sunks o' green feall. 

" Now make us a supper, dear mither, 
The best o' your curds and green whey ; 

And make us a bed o' green rashes, 
And cover't wi' huddins sae gray." 

But Lizie being wearied wi' travel, 

She lay till't was up i' the day. 
" Ye might ha'e been up an hour seener, 

To milk baith the ewes and the kye." 

Out then spake the bonnie young lady, 
Whan the saut tear drapt frae her e'e ; 

" I wish that I had bidden at hame, 
I can neither milk ewes nor kye. 

" I wish that I had bidden at hame, 
The Hielands I never had seen ; 

Although I love Donald M'Donald, 
The laddie wi' blythe blinking eei>." 

" Win up, win up, O bonnie Lizie. 

And dress in the silks sae gay ; 
I'll show you the yatts o' Kingcaussie, 

Whare I've play'd me mony a day." 

Up raise the bonnie young lady, 

And drest in the silks sae fine; 
And into young Donald's arms, 

Awa' to Kingcaussie she's gane. 

Forth came the auld laird o' Kingcaussie, 

And hailed her courteouslie ; 
Says, "Ye're welcome, bonnie Lizie Lindsay, 

Ye're welcome hame to me . 



& 



** Though lords o' renown ha'e you courted, 
Young Donald your favour has won ; 

Ye'se get a' the lands o' Kingcaussie, 
And Donald M'Donald, my son." 



LIZZIE LINDSAY. 

|^^3 [This version of Lizzie Lindsay is given from 
/tlOp the recitation of a Lady in Glasgow, and is a 
r~^\ faithful transcript of the ballad as it used to be 
\°W ) sung in the West of Scotland. In several points, 
Vi2<^ we consider it superior to the North country 
*VFqTN version quoted a,bove.] 

*rf^ \ There was a braw ball in Edinburgh 

f~==-%j And mony braw ladies were there, 

\~Jp\ But nae ane at a' the assembly 

\/£>_A Could wi' Lizzie Lindsay compare. 

r ^=^ > In cam' the young laird o' Kincassie, 

\p'^ An' a bonnie joung laddie was he — 

" Will ye lea' yere ain kintra, Lizzie, 
An' gang to the Hielands wi' me ?" 

She turned her roun' on her heel, 
An' a very loud laughter gaed she — 

" I wad like to ken whar 1 was ganging, 
And wha I was gaua to gang wi'." 

" My name is young Donald M'Donald, 

My name I will never deny ; 
My father he is an auld shepherd, 

Sae weel as he can herd the kye ; 

" My father he is an auld shepherd, 
My mother she is an auld dame ; 

If ye'il gang to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, 
Ye's neither want curds nor cream." 

" If ye'll call at the Canongate port, 
At the Canongate port call on me, 

I'll give you a bottle o' sherry, 
And bear you companie." 

He ca'd at the Canongate port, 
At the Canongate port called he ; 

She drank wi' him a bottle o' sherry, 
And bore him guid companie. 



" Will ye go to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, 
Will ye go to the Hielands wi' me ? 

If ye'll go to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, 
Ye shall not want curds nor green whey." 



f§& 



In there cam' her auld mither, 

A jolly auld lady was she— 
" I wad like to ken whar she was ganging, 

And wha she was gaun to gang wi' " 

" My name' is young Donald M'Donald, 

My name I will never deny, 
My father he is an auld shepherd, 

Sae weel as he can herd the kye. 

" but I would give you ten guineas 
To have her one hour in a room, 

To get her fair body a picture 
To keep me from thinking long." 

"01 value not your ten guineas, 

As little as you value mine ; 
But if that you covet my daughter, 

Take her with you if you do incline." 

" Pack up my silks and my satins, 
And pack up my hose and my shoon, 

And likewise my clothes in small bundles, 
And away wi' young Donald I'll gang." 

They pack'd up her silks and her satins, 
They pack'd up her hose and her shoon. 

And likewise her clothes in small bundles, 
And away with young Donald she's gane. 

When that they cam' to the Hielands, 
The braes they were baith lang and stey. 

Bonnie Lizzie was wearied wi' ganging — 
She had travell'd a lang summer day. 

" are we near hame, Sir Donald, 

O are we near hame ? 1 pray." 
" We're no near hame, bonnie Lizzie, 

Nor yet the half o' the way." 

They cam' to a homely poor cottage, 
An auld man was standing by; 

" Ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald, 
Ye've been sae lang away." 

" call me no more Sir Donald, 

But call me young Donald your son ; 

For I have a bonnie young lady 
Behind me for to come in." 

'• Come in, come in, bonnie Lizzie, 

Come in, come in," said he, 
" Although that our cottage be little 

Perhaps the better we'll 'gree." 



** O make us a supper, dear mother, 
And make it of curds an' green whey ; 

And make us a bed o* green rushes, 
And cover it o'er wi' green hay. 

" Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizzie, 
"Why lie ye so long in the day ; 

Ye might ha'e been helping my mother 
To make the curds and green whey." 

" haud your tongue, Sir Donald, 

haud your tongue I pray ; 

I wish I had ne'er left my mother, 

1 can neither make curds nor whey." 

" Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizzie, 
And put on your satins so fine ; 

For we maun be at Kincassie 

Before that the clock strikes nine." 

But when they came to Kincassie 
The porter was standing by; — 

" Ye're welcome home, Sir Donald, 
Ye've been so long away." 

It's down then came his auld mither, 
With all the keys in her hand, 

Saying, "Take you these, bonnie lizzie, 
All under them 's at your command." 



bk Holanft. 



[This striking fragment is from Motherwell's 
l Collection, where it is supposed to be printed for 
I the first time. — " It was communicated to us," 
6ays Mr Motherwell, " by an ingenious friend, 
who remembered having heard it sung in his 
youth. A good many verses at the beginning, 
some about the middle, and one or two at the 
end, seem to be wanting. More sanguine anti- 
quaries than we are, might, from the similarity 
' of names, imagine that he had in this ballad dis- 
covered the original romance whence Shakspeare 
| had given this line — 

' Child Rowland to the dark tower came. 1 

King Lear, Act III. 

* The story is of a very gloomy and supersti- 
tious texture. A young lady, on the eve of her 
marriage, invited her lover to a banquet, where 
sLj she murders him in revenge for some real or 



$ she betakes herself to flight ; and, in the course 
"of her journey, she sees a stranger knight riding 
slowly before her, whom she at first seeks to 
shun, by pursuing an opposite direction; but, on 
finding that wheresoever she turned, he still . 
appeared between her and the moonlight, she / 
resolves to overtake him. This, however, she V 
finds in vain, till of his own accord, he stays for i 
her at the brink of a broad river. They agree to { 
cross it ; and, when in the mid stream, she im- j 
plores his help to save her from drowning— to , 
her horror she finds her fellow-traveller to be no I 
other than the gaunt apparition of her dead ( 
lover."] 

Whan he cam' to his ain luve's bouir 

He tirl'd at the pin, 
And sae ready was his fair fause luve 

To rise and let him in. 

" welcome, welcome, Sir Roland," she says, 
" Thrice welcome thou art to me, 

For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir/ 
And to-morrow we'll wedded be." 

" This night is hallow-eve," he said, 
"And to-morrow is hallow-day, 

And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, 
That has made my heart fu' wae. 

" I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, 
And 1 wish it may cum to gude : 

I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound, 
And gied me his lappered blude." 

" Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland," she said, 

" And set you safely down." 
" O your chamber is very dark, fair maid, 

And the night is wond'rous lown." 

" Yes dark, dark is my secret bouir, 
And lown the midnight may be, 

For there is none waking in a* this tower, 
But thou, my true love, and me." 

She has mounted on her true love's steed, 

By the ae light o' the moon ; 
She has whipped him and spurred him, 

And roundly she rade frae the toun. 

She hadna ridden a mile o' gate, 

Never a mile but ane, 
When she was aware of a tall young man, 

Slow riding o'er the plain. 



She turned her to the right about, 

Then to the left tum'd she, 
But aye 'tween her and the wan moonlight, 

That tall knight did she see. 

And he was riding burd alane, 

On a horse as black as jet, 
But though she followed him fast and fell, 

No nearer could she get. 

" O stop ! O stop ! young man," she said, 

" For I in dule am dight ; 
O stop, and win a fair lady's luve, 

If you be a leal true knight." 

But nothing did the tall knight say, 

And nothing did he blin ; 
Still slowly rode he on before, 

And fast she rade behind. 

She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed, 

Till his breast was all a foam, 
But nearer unto that tall young knight, 

By our ladye, she could not come. 

" O if you be a gay young knight, 

As well I trow you be, 
Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay 

Till I come up to thee." 

But nothing did that tall knight say, 

And no whit did he blin, 
Until he reached a broad river's side, 

And there he drew his rein. 

** O, is this water deep," he said, 

" As it is wond'rous dun ? 
Or is it sic as a saikless maid, 

And a leal true knight may swim ?" 

*' The water it is deep," she said, 

" As it is wond'rous dun ; 
But it is sic as a saikless maid, 

And a leal true knight may swim." 

The knight spurred on his tall black steed, 
The lady spurred on her brown ; 

And fast they rade into the flood, 
And fast they baith swam down. 

" The water weets my tae," she said, 

" The water weets my knee, 
And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight, 

For the sake of our Ladye." 



" If I would help thee now," he said, 

" It were a deadly sin, 
For I've sworn neir to trust a fair may's word, - 

Till the water weets her chin." 

" O the water weets my waist," she said, 

" Sae does it weet my chin, 
And my aching heart rins round about* 

The burn mak's sic a din. 

" The water is waxing deeper still, 

Sae does it wax mair wide, 
And aye the farther that we ride on, 

Farther off is the other side. 

" help me now, thou false false knight, 

Have pity on my youth, 
For now the water jawes owre my head, 

And it gurgles in my mouth." 

The knight turned right and round about, 

All in the middle stream, 
And he stretched out his head to that lady, 

But loudly she did scream. 

" O this is hallow- jiorn," he said, 

" And it is your bridal-day, 
But sad would be that gay wedding, 

If bridegroom and bride were away. 

" And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret ! 

Till the water comes o'er your bree, 
For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet, 

Wha rides this ford wi' me. 

" Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret ! 

Turn ye round and look on me, 
Thou hast killed a true knight under trust, 

And his ghost now links on with thee." 



<&IMHB 



luUx. 



[From Scott's Minstrelsy. — " The following 
verses," says Sir Walter, " are the original i 
words of the tune of ' Allan Water,' by which 
name the song is mentioned in Ramsay's Tea 
Table Miscellany. The ballad is given from ' 
tradition ; and it is said, that a bridge, over the 
Annan, was built in consequence of the melan- 
choly catastrophe which it narrates. Two verses 
^Kare added in this edition, from another copy of f 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



J «egPX the ballad, in which the conclusion proves for- $fe 
V =T oy tunate. By the Gatehope Slack, is perhaps || 
J^A meant the Gate Slack, a pass in Annandaie. 
/*v§^\ Tiie Annan, and the Frith of Solway, into 
&_ ^ which it falls, are the frequent scenes of tragical 
r ^ ^ J accidents. The editor trusts he will be pardoned 
£=?zj for inserting the following awfully impressive 
\C?^» account of such an event, contained in a letter 
^xLg from Br Currie, of Liverpool, by whose corre- 
t ~. ~\ spondence, while in the course of preparing 
tjgTN these volumes for the press, he has been alike 
Vf cj / honoured and instructed. After stating, that 
V— f^ he had some recollection of the ballad which 
/"» Q9u follows, the biographer of Burns proceeds thus : 
5^ ^\ ' I once in my early days heard (for it was night, 
*W=r^A and I could not see) a traveller drowning; not 
CWy in tne Annan itself, but in the Frith of Solway, 
J^LjK cluse by the mouth of that river. The influx of 
C/v)_§ the tide had unhorsed him, in the night, as he 
5f||Jp| was passing the sands from Cumberland. The 
J -TUgr west wind blew a tempest, and, according to the 
VjpLM common expression, brought in the water three 
JKryi/ foot abreast. The traveller got upon a standing 
~ net, a little way from the shore. There he 
lashed himself to the post, shouting for half an 
hour for assistance — till the tide rose over his 
head I In the darkness of night, and amid the 
pauses of the hurricane, his voice, heard at iu- 
tervals, was exquisitely mournful. .No one could 
go to his assistance — no one knew where he was 
— the sound seemed to proceed from the spirit of 
the waters. But morning rose — the tide had 
ebbed — and the poor traveller was found lashed 
to the pole of the net, and bleaching in the 
wind.'*"] 

" Annan water's wading deep, 

And my love Annie's wond'rous bonnie ; 

And I am laith she suld weet her feet, 
Because 1 love her best of ony. 



(1 



' An incident, somewhat similar to the above, but 
even more awfully striking in its character, is record- 
ed by Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, in his Account of the 
Great floods of August, 1S29, in the province of Moray 
and adjoining districts. Edinburgh, 1830, Svo. The 
suil'erer in this instance was a toll-keeper, who, on the 
evening in which he met his death, had been attend- 
ing a merry-making, where he had danced, and dis- 
played unwonted hilarity, in so much that the old 
people thought him "ley." On his return home, he 
ua.s overtaken by the flood, and sought refuge in a 
lice not far from his own house. The waters con- 
tinued to rise, and during the long nigiit he was heard 
repeatedly to whistle on his fingers, to apprize his 
friends of his situation, but no assistance could be 
rendered him. In the morning, tree and man were 
gone. 



" Gar saddle me the bonnie black; 

Gar saddle sune, and make him ready ; 
For I will down the Gatehope-slack, 

And all to see my bonnie ladye." 

He has loupen on the bonnie black, 

He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairiy; 

But, or he v. an the Gatehope-slack, 
I think the steed was wae and weary. 

He has loupen on the bonnie gray, 
He rade the right gate and the ready ; 

I trow he would neither stint nor stay, 
For he was seeking his bonnie ladye. 

he has ridden ower field and fell, 
Through muir and moss, and mony a 

mire ; 
His spurs o' sLeel were sair to bide, 
And frae her fore-feet Hew the lire. 

" Now, bonnie gray, now play your part ! 

Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary, 
Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye, 

And never spur sail make you wearie." 

The gray was a mare, and a right good mare; 

But when she wan the Annan water, 
She couldna ha'e ridden a furlong mair, 

Had a thousand merks been wadded f on -/ 
her. 

"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat! 
Put off your boat for gowdeu mouie 1 

1 cross tiie drumly stream the night, 

Or never mair 1 see my honey." 

"01 was sworn sae late yestreen, 
And not by ae aith, but by many ; 

And lor a' the gowd in fair (Scotland, 
I darna take ye through to Annie." 

The side was stey, and the bottom deep, 
Frae bank to biae the water pouring; 

And the bonnie gray mare did sweat for fej 
For she heard the water kelpy roaring. 

O he has pou'd aff his dapperpyt coat, 
The silver buttons glanced bonnie; 

The waistcoat bursted aff his breast, 
He was sae i'ud of melancholy. 




He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail ; 

I wot he swam both strong and steady; 
But the stream was broad, and his strength did 
fail, 

And he never saw his bonnie ladye. 

e< wae betide the frush saugh wand ! 

And wae betide the bash of briar- 
It brake into my true love's hand, 

When his strength did fail, and his limbs 
did tire. 

'* And wae betide ye, Annan Water, 
This night that ye are a dru.nlie river! 

For over thee I'll build a bridge, 

That ye never more true love may sever." 






["We find the present ballad in the Edinburgh 
Magazine for December, 1817. It is thus intro- 
duced — but of course we do not insist on the 
reader to believe in the statement. — " The fol- 
lowing fragments of a Scottish ballad were dis- 
covered tied up with a number of law pap-rs, 
principally dated 1590. Some lines, where it was 
deemed practicable, have been completed by 
conjecture; the MS. is thus endorsed, in a male 
hand, ' my umquhill deir sister, my lady Eu- 
fame's sang, quhilk she would sing unto her 
lute. 1 "] 

Lady Margarette was as faire a May, 
As won in the north countrie ; — 

Alaee ! that she luvit a pirate knicht, 
Wha wanderit o'er the sea ! 

They couldna meit in the greene forest, 

2s or yet in hall or bower, 
But they'd walk on the lone sea sandes, 

At the mirk and midnicht hour. 

And they'd walk on the lonelie sandes, 
By the wann licht o' the moon, 

Till the sun raise red o'er yonder fell, 
And ghttered the waves abune. 

Beware, beware, ye maidinnis fair, 

Of ugsome kelpie sprite ' — 
But maist beware o' your ain sweet love, 

Gin ye walk by the pale moon licht ! 




" ZSfow Willie, if you luve me weel. 

As aft you've said and sworn, 
Oh wedd me in yon halie kirk 

Before my babie's born !" 

" >Tow Margarett, if you luve me weel, 

"Urge no such thing to be, 
Till I returne from my father's lande, 

That's farr beyond the sea." 

With flowing tide, and shipp of pride, 

That false knicht saii'cl away, 
And many a tear his true love shedd, 

I wott, that drearie day. 

And many a langsome look she cast 

Atween the sea and the air, 
And all to descry that stately shipp, — 

In lyfe she ne'er saw mair. 

" I weipe by day, I weipe by nicht, 

The salt tearis drown my e'e ; 
I weary for my ain sweet luve, 

But his face I cannot see." 

When six sad months were past and gone, 
Her cheeke wext pale and leanne : 

Her golden belt was all too tight, 
Too short her robes of greene. 

To braid her hair she didna care, 

In or sett her golden kell ; 
And the tears that cam' frae her downcast 

Pry'd aye just where they fell. [eyne, 

She fand nae rest in the greene forest, 

Xor yet in hall or bower, 
But she was pleased wi' the lonelie sandes, 

At the mirk and midnicht hour. 

There to the wave she'd fondly rave, 
And answere the sea-bird's cry;— 

" I see the mast — he comes at last;" 
He never mair cam' nigh. 

" I weipe by day, I weipe by nicht, 

1 weipe false Willie's scorn ; 
But ne'er shall I weipe the world's spite 

When my poor babies born." 

Now up and spak' her sister Anne 
Ir. the chamber where she lay, — 

" I trow I heard fair 2>Iargarett cry 
On the shore, lang lang or day. 




^6 



" The tide came on wi' the wild wind's moan ,% 

An hour I couldna sleip ; 
I trow I heard a lady groan, 

But and a babie weip." 

" Now hold your tongue, my sister Anne, 

Think no such things to be, 
; T\vas but the seugh o' the yew-tree boughs, 

In the wild blast mournfullie." 

It was on a nicht, and a mirk mirk nicht, 
That forth would Margarett fare ; 

And she's gane to yon lone kirk -yard ; 
Hir kin lay buried there. 

Now she's gane to hir father's grave, 

And touched the marble chest : 
" Oh father deir, mak' room for mee, 

I fain wald find some rest." 

" Awa', awa', thou ill woman, 

An ill death may'st thou dee, 
Were my coffine all the warld wyde, 

There's nae room for such as thee." 

Now she's gane to her mother's tomb, 

And kiss'd the feet of stone ; 
" Oh, mother sweit, mak' room for mee, — 

My dayes on earth are done." 

"Away, away, deir Margarett, 

Away, and lett mee sleip ; 
Thou must not stretch thee at my syde, 

And I downa hear thee weip." 

Now she's gane to her brother's grave, 

Ance deir to him was shee ; — 
" Is there anie room in thy coffine, brother, 

For I fain would rest with thee.*' 

" There's no room in my coffine, sister, 

Save for my trustie brand, 
And that should strike thee to the heart, 

Had I now a fleshlie hand." 

This ladye turn'd her by the shore, 

To reach her stately tower, 
And she was aware of a babie wan 

As the water-lilie flower. 

He wore a garlande o' the greon sea-weed, 
And a robe o' the white sea-foam, — 

" Now faire befalle thee babie mine, 
1 bidd thee welcome home." 



" When I was in life, Lady Margarett, 
Such kindnesse you did not keip; 

The cradle you gave was a rocking wave. 
And the sea- gull to sing me asleip." 

" Thou sleip'st nott worse beneath the bryne, 

Than I on my silken bed ; 
I cannot rest for those hands of thine 

That freeze my brow to lead. 

" Thou sleip'st not worse beneath the sands, 

Than I amydd the down ; 
I cannot rest for thy little feet 

That patter my bed aroun'. 

" My days of youth are days of ruth, 

I've mickle dreed o' pine ; 
And sorrow's cup whilk I've drunk up, 

Is bitterer far than bryne. 

" Soe I will take a plunge, babie, 

I'll take a plunge with thee, 
We'll soundlier sleep in others' arms, 

For all the roaringe sea." 

Now Willie was sailing his good shipp, 

1 wot on a simmer's day, 
When up there rose a cloud i' the south, 

A dark and drumlie grey. 

And howdinge saftlie o'er the waves, 
Between that cloud and the sea, 

Twa snow-white birds he thought cam' on, 
And marvel'd what they might be ! 

But when they nigh : d the statlie shipp, 

Pale grew the pirate band, 
For there stood a lady cladd in whyte, 

Wi' a young boy in her hand. 

"That shape is like my Margarett's, 

As like as like may be ; 
But when I look on that blue swollen faee, 

I canna think it she. 

" That neck is as white as Margarett's, 

As lang that yellow hair ; 
But how gat ye that bloodie wound, 

Bound up with green sea-ware ?" 

"Leap down, leap down, thou false traitor, 
Leap down, leap down, and see ; 

If thou leaps't not down to me and my babe, 
We'll climb the shipp to thee." 




[This old ballad is given in the fourth volume of " The Scottish Minstrel, a selection from the vocal 
melodies of Scotland, ancient and modern, arranged for the Piano-forte by R. A. Smith," a work 
which extended to six volumes in all, the last of which was published in 1824. Another version of 
Glenlogie is given in Mr Charles Kilpatrick Sharpe's Ballad Book, which the reader will find quoted 
in the next page. It differs in diction considerably from the present, and is inferior in poetical 
merit. We may mention that the title of the ballad is sometimes printed Glenogie, not Glenlogie, 
but we adopt the latter reading.] 

Threescore o' nobles rade up the king's ha', 
But Bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a' ; 
Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e, 
" Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me." 

" haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he ;" 
fC say nae sae, mither, for that canna be, 
Though Drumlie is richer, and greater than he, 
Yet if I maun tak' him, I'll certainly dee. 

" "Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, 
Will gae to Glenlogie, and cum shun again ?" 
" 0, here am 1, a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, 
Will gae to Glenlogie, and cum shun again," 

When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas wash and go dine; 
'Twas wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine ; 
" 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine, 
To gar a lady's hasty errand wait till I dine. 

" But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee ;" 
The first line that he read, a low smile ga'e he 
The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e ; 
But the last line that he read, he gart the table flee. 

" Gar saddle the black horse, gae saddle the brown ; 

Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town ;" 

But lang ere the horse was drawn, and brought to the green, 

O bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane. 



When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, little mirth was there, 
Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair; 
" Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome!" said she; 
" Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see." 

Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben ; 
But red and rosy grew she whene'er he sat down ; 
She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e; 
" binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee." 



fcO^P^^^ 








GLENLOGIE 



[From Mr Sharpe's Ballad Book, Edinburgh, 
1824.] 

Four-and-twenty nobles sit 

In the king's ha' ; 
But bonnie Glenlogie 

Is the flower amang them a'. 

In cam' Lady Jean, 

Skipping on the floor, 
And she has chosen Glenlogie 

Amang a' that was there. 

She turned to his foot-ran, 

And thus she did say : 
" Oh, what is his name, 

And where does he stay ?" 

'* His name is Glenlogie, 

When he is from home ; 
He is of the gay Gordons, 

His name it is John." 



^re/j 



kind, 



(C Glenlogie, Glenlogie 

An you will prove k^^ 
My love is laid on you : 

I'm telling my mind." 

He turned about liehtly, 

As the Gordons does a' ; 
" I thank you, Lady Jean, 

My love's promised awa'." 

She called on her maidens, 

Her bed for to make ; 
Her rings and her jewels 

All from her to take. 

In cam' Jeanie's father, 

A wae man was he ; 
Says, " I'll wed you to Drumfendrich ; 

He has mair gold than he." 

Her father's own chaplin, 
Being a man of great skill, 

He wrote him a letter- 
Indited it well. 

The first line he looked at, 

A licht lauch lauched he ; 
But, ere he read through it, 

The tears blinded his e'e. 



Oh, pale and wan looked she 
"When Glenlogie cam' in ; 

But even rosy grew she 
When Glenlogie sat doun. 

" Turn round, Jeanie Melville, 

Turn round to this side, 
And I'll be the bridegroom, 

And you'll be the bride." 

Oh, it was a merry wedding, 
And the portion doun told, 

Of bonnie Jeanie Melville, 

Who was scarce sixteen years old ! 



[Sir Walter Scott. — Modern Ballad. — The 
simple tradition, upon which the following 
stanzas are founded, runs thus : While two 
Highland hunters were passing the night in a 
solitary bathy (a hut built for the purpose of 
hunting,) and making merry over their venison 
and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that 
they had pretty lasses to complete their party. 
The words were scarcely uttered, when two 
beautiful young women, habited in green, en- 
ter the hut, dancing and singing. One of the 
hunters was seduced by the syren, who attached 
herself particularly to him, to leave the hut : the 
other remained, and, suspicious of the fair sedu- 
cers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jews 
harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin 
Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress 
vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the 
bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been 
torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend into 
whose toils he had fallen. The place was from 
thence called the Glen of the Green Women. 

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in 
the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Cal- 
lender, in Menteith. It was formerly a rojal 
forest, and now belongs to the earl of Moray. 
This country, as well as the adjacent district of 
Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inha- 
bited by the Macgregors. To the west of the 
forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its 
romantic avenue, called the Troshachs. Benledi, 
Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in 
>the same district, and at no great distance from 




FVr 




Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and 4& 
the castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near 

, Stirling. The pass of Lenny is immediately 
above Callender, and is the principal access to 
the Highlands, from that town. Glenartney is 

j a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a 
sublime tract of Alpine scenery. 

j This ballad first appeared in the Tales of 

f Wonder.— Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.] 

O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' !* 
The pride of Albin's line is o'er, 

And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree; 
We ne'er shall see lord Ronald more ! 

/ O, sprung from great Macgillianore, 
The chief that never feared a foe, 
How matchless was thy broad claymore, 
How deadly thine unerring bow ! 

Well can the Saxon widows tell,f 

How, on the Teith's resounding shore, 

The boldest Lowland warriors fell, 
As down from Lenny's pass you bore. 

But o'er his hills, on festal day, 

How blazed lord Ronald's beltane-tree ;i 

While youths and maids the light strathspey 
So nimbly danced with Highland glee. 

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell, 
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 

But now the loud lament we swell, 
O ne'er to see lord Ronald more ! 

From distant isles a chieftian came, 
The joys of Ronald's halls to find, 

And chase with him the dark-brown game, 
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. 



* O hone a rie' signifies — " Alas for the prince, 
I or chief.— Scott. 

f The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by 
1 the Highlanders to their low-country neigh- 
' bours. — Scott. 

± The fires lighted by the Highlanders on the 
) first of May, in compliance with a custom de- 
t rived from the Pagan times, are termed, The 

Beltane-Tree. It is a festival celebrated with 
[ various superstitious rites, both in the north of 

Scotland and in Wales'.— Scott. 



'Twas Moy ; whom in Columba's isle 
The seer's prophetic spirit found,§ 

As, with a minstrel's fire the while, 

He waked his harp's harmonious sound. 

Full many a spell to him was known, 

Which wandering spirits shrink to hear ; 

And many a lay of potent tone, 
Was never meant for mortal ear. 

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood, 

High converse with the dead they hold, 

And oft espy the fated shroud, 

That shall the future corpse enfold. 

so it fell, that on a day, 

To rouse the red deer from their den, 
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way, 

And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas' glen. 

No vassals wait their sports to aid, 

To watch their safety, deck their board ; 

Their simple dress, the Highland plaid, 
Their trusty guard the Highland sword. 

Three summer days, through brake and dell, 
Their whistling shafts successful flew; 

And still, when dewy evening fell, 
The quarry to their hut they drew. 

In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook 

The solitary cabin stood, 
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, 

Which murmurs through that lonely wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm, 

When three successive days had flown ; 

And summer mist in dewy balm 

Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. 



§ I can only describe the second sight, by 
adopting Dr Johnson's definition, who calls it 
" An impression, either by the mind upon the 
eye, or by the eye upon the mind, by which 
things distant and future are perceived and seen 
as if they were present." To which I would only 
add, that the spectral appearance, thus present- 
ed, usually presages misfortune ; that the faculty 
is painful to those who suppose they possess it ; and 
that they usually acquire it, while themselves 
under the pressure of melancholy.— Scotf. — The 
author himself, in his romantic legend of Mont- 
rose, gives a beautiful illustration of this subject, 
in the character of Allan M'Aulay. 









mi 




The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes, 
Afar her dubious radiance shed, 

Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes, 
And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut, in social guise, 
Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy ; 

And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, 
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. 

— " What lack we here to crown our bliss, 
While thus the pulse of joy beats high ? 

What, but fair woman's yielding kiss, 
Her panting breath and melting eye ? 

" To chase the deer of yonder shades, 
This morning left their father's pile 

The fairest of our mountain maids, 
The daughters of the proud Glengyle. 

" Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart. 
And dropp'd the tear and heav'd the sigh; 

But vain the lover's wily art, 
Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 

" But thou may'st teach that guardian fair, 
While far with Mary I am flown, 

Of other hearts to ease her care, 

And find it hard to guard her own. 

" Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Unmindful of her charge and me, 

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile. 

"Or if she chuse a melting tale, 

All underneath the greenwood bough, 

Will good St Oran's rule prevail,* 

Stern huntsman of the rigid brow ?" — 



* St Oran was a friend and follower of St Co- 
' lumba, and was buried in Icolmkill. His pre- 
' tensions to be a saint were rather dubious. Ac- 
| cording to the legend, he consented to be buried 
? alive, in order to propitiate certain demons of 
V the soil, who obstructed the attempts of Colum- 
} ba to build a chapel. Columba caused the body 
; of his friend to be dug up, after three days had 
' elapsed : when Oran, to the horror and scandal 
) of the assistants, declared, that there was neither 
\ a GrOd, a judgment, nor a future state ! He had 
/ no time to make further discoveries, for Colum- 
> ba caused the earth once more to be shovelled 
\ over him with the utmost dispatch. The chapel, 



— " Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's deatB, , 

No more on me shall rapture rise, 
Responsive to the panting breath, 

Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 

"E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe, 
Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, 

I bade my harp's wild wailing's flow, 
On me the seer's sad spirit came. 

" The last dread curse of angry heaven, 
With ghastly sights and sounds of woe, 

To dash each glimpse of joy was given — 
The gift, the future ill to know. 

" The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn, Lo =f=> 

So gaily part from Oban's bay, \eF> 

My eye beheld her dash'd and torn, OFx 

Ear on the rocky Colonsay. 1^- -^ 

"Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son, f^== 

Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power, \^^\ 

As marching 'gainst the lord of Downe, 
He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 

" Thou only saw'st their tartans wave, 
As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, 

Heard'st thou the pibroch, answering brave 
To many a target clanking round. 

" I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, 

I saw the wound his bosom bore, 
When on the serried Saxon spears 

He pour'd his clan's resistless roar. 

" And thou, who bid'st me think of bliss, 

And bid'st my heart awake to glee, 
And court, like thee, the wanton kiss — 

That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee ! 

" I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; 

I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; [now.... VjriN 

The corpse-lights dance — they're gone, and y^ 

No more is given to gifted eye !" JP- 

— " Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, £\§ 

Sad prophet of the evil hour ! 

Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams, V^= 

Because to-morrow's storm may lour ? f^g 



however, and the cemetry, was called Reilig 
Ouran; and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no 
female was permitted to pay her devotions, or be 
buried, in that place. This is the rule alluded 
to in the poem. — Scott. 



" Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear; 

His blood shall bound at rapture's glow, 
Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear. 

rt E'en now to meet me in yon dell, 
My Mary's buskins brush the dew." 

He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell, 
But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew. 

Within an hour return'd each hound ; 

In rush'd the rouzers of the deer; 
They howl'd in melancholy sound, 

Then closely couch beside the seer. 

No Ronald yet ; though midnight came, 
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams, 

As, bending o'er the dying flame, 

He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. 

Sudden the hounds erect their ears, 

And sudden cease their moaning howl ; 

Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears 
By shivering limbs, and stifled growl. 

Untouch'd, the harp began to ring, 
As softly, slowly, oped the door ; 

And shook responsive every string, 
As light a footstep press'd the floor. 

And by the watch-fire's glimmering light, 
Close by the minstrel's side was seen 

An huntress maid, in beauty bright, 
All dropping wet her robes of green. 

All dropping wet her garments seem ; 

Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare, 
As bending o'er the dying gleam, 

She wrung the moisture from her hair. 

With maiden blush she softly said, 
" O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen, 

In deep Glenfinlas' moon -light glade, 
A lovely maid in vest of green : 

" With her a chief in Highland pride ; 

His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, 
The mountain dirk adorns his side, 

Far on the wind his tartans flow ?" 

"And who art thou, and who are they ?" 
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 

"And why, beneath the- moon's pale ray, 
Dare ye thus roam Grlenfinlas' side ?" 



" Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide, f ^k 1 

Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle, )£*£/ 

Our father's towers o'erhang her side, «^/U 

The castle of the bold Glengyle. (jd) "N 

" To chase the dun Glenfinlas' deer, 

Our woodland course this morn we bore, y-^y 

And haply met, while wandering here, £>^K 

The son of great Macgillianore. liLsf 

" O aid me, then, to seek the pair, (^1 

Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost ; \S^j 

Alone, I dare not venture there, Yr?) 

Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost*" zC^^j, 

" Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there; Ki^Pv 

Then first, my own sad vow to keep, Vr. W*J 

Here will I pour my midnight prayer, Of\N 

Which still must rise when mortals sleep." §=- .\j 

" O first, for pity's gentle sake, 

Guide a lone wanderer on her way ! 
For I must cross the haunted brake, 

And reach my father's towers ere day." 

" First, three times tell each Ave-bead, 

And thrice a Pater-noster say; 
Then kiss with me the holy reed; 

So shall we safely wind our way." 

u O shame to knighthood, strange and foul ! 

Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, 
And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, 

Which best befits thy sullen vow. 

ee Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, 

Thy heart was froze to love and joy, 
When gaily rung thy raptur'd lyre, 

To wanton Morna's melting eye." 

Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame, 

And high his sable locks arose, 
And quick his colour went and came, 

As fear and rage alternate rose. 



" And thou ! when by the blazing oak 
I lay, to her and love resign'd, 

Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke, 
Or sailed ye on the midnight wind ! 

" Not thine a race of mortal blood, 
Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; 

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood, 
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine." 




He mutter'd thrice St Oran's rhyme, 

And thrice St Fillan's powerful prayer;* 

Then turn'd bim to the eastern clime, 
And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 



* St Fillan has given his name to many chapels, 
holy fountains, &c. in Scotland. He was, ac- 
cording to Camerarius, an abbot of Pittenweem, 
in Fife; from which situation he retired, and 
died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A. D. 
649. While engaged in transcribing the Scrip- 
tures, his left hand was observed to send forth 
such a splendour, as to afford light to that with 
which he wrote ; a miracle which saved many- 
candles to the convent, as St Fillan used to 
spend whole nights in that exercise. The 9th of 
January was dedicated to this saint, who gave 
his name to Kiifillan, in Renfrew, and St Phil- 
lans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. 7., tells 
us, that Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fil- 
lan's miraculous and luminous arm, which he 
inclosed in a silver shrine, and had it carried at 
the head of his army. Previous to the battle of 
Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, aman of little 
faith, abstracted the relique, and deposited it in 
some place of secui-ity, lest it should fall into the 
hands of the English. But, lo ! while Robert 
was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, 
it was observed to open and shut suddenly ; and, 
on inspection, the saint was found to have him- 
self deposited his arm in the shrine, as an assur- 
ance of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But 
though Bruce little needed that the arm of St 
Fillan should assist his own, he dedicated to 
him, in gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch 
Tay. 

In the Scots Magazine for July 1802, there is a 
copy of a very curious crown grant, dated 11th 
July, 1487, by which James III. confirms to 
Malice Dore, an inhabitant of Strathfillan, in 
Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoy- 
ment of a relique of St Fillan, being apparently 
the head of a pastoral staff called the Quegrich, 
which he and his predecessors are said to have 
possessed since the days of Robert Bruce. As the 
Quegrich was used to cure diseases, this docu- 
ment is, probably, the most ancient patent ever 
granted for a quack medicine. The ingenious 
correspondent, by whom it is furnished, further 
observes, that additional particulars, concerning 
St Fillan, are to be found in Ballenden's Boece, j 
Book 4, folio ccxiii. and in Pennant's Tour in 
Scotland, 1772, pp. 11, 15.— Scott. 



And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 

His wildest witch-notes on the wind; 
And loud, and high, and strange, they rung 

As many a magic change they find. 

Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form, 

Till to the roof her stature grew ; 
Then, mingling with the rising-sc rm, 

With one wild yell, away she flew. 

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear : 

The slender hut in fragments flew ; 
But not a lock of Moy's loose hair 

Was waved by wind, or wet by dew. 

Wild mingling with the howling gale, 

Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; 
High o'er the minstrel's head they sail, 

And die amid the northern skies. 

The voice of thunder shook the wood, 

As ceased the more than mortal yell ; 
And, spattering foul, a shower of blood 

Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 

Next, dropp'd from high a mangled arm , 
The fingers strain'd an half-drawn blade: 

And last, the life-blood streaming warm, 
Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. 

Oft o'er that head, in battling field, 

Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore ; V^LjpA 
That arm the broad claymore could wield, 

Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. 

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! 

Woe to Glenfinlas' di'eary glen ! 
There never son of Albin's hills 

Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen . 

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet 

At noon shall shun that sheltering den, 

Lest, journeying in their rage, he n.tet 
The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 



And we — behind the chieftain's shield, 
No more shall we in safety dwell ; 

None leads the people to the field — 
And we the loud lament must swell. 

O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie* ! 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er, 
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree; 

We ne'er shall see lord Ronald more ! 




\ [This fragment is from Mr Kinloch's collec- 
jtion of Ancient Scottish Ballads, London, 1827. 
( From the pronunciation of some of the words, 
I it would seem to belong to the North.] 

. " whabe ha'e ye been, Peggy, 
) O whare ha'e ye been ? — 

) I' the garden amang the gilly-fiow'rs, 
Atween twal hours and een." 

J "Ye've na been there your leen, Peggy, 
I Ye've na been there your leen ; 

Your father saw you in Jamie's arms, 
| Atween twal hours and een." 

" Tho' my father saw me in Jamie's arms, 

He'll see me there again ; 
For I will sleep in Jamie's arms, 

When his grave's growin' green.' 

" Your Jamie is a rogue, Peggy, 

Your Jamie is a loun, 
For trysting out our ae dochter, 

And her sae very young." 

"Lay no the wyte on Jamie, mither, 

The blame a' lies on me ; — 
For I will sleep in Jamie's arms, 

When your een winna see." 

Now she has to her ain bouer gane, 
He was waiting there him leen; — 

" I'm blythe to see ye, Jarr ie, here, 
For we maunna meet again." 

She's tane the wine glass in her hand, 
Pour'd out the wine sae clear ; 

Says, " Here's your health and mine, Jamie, 
And we maun meet na mair." 

She has tane him in her arms twa, 

And gi'en him kisses five ; 
Says, " Here's your health and mine, Jamie, 

I wish weel mote ye thrive." 

" Your father has a bonnie cock, 

Divides the nicht and day ; 
And at the middle watch o' the nicht, 

In greenwud ye'll meet me." 



m Whan belh war rung, and mass was sung, 
And a' men boun' for bed, 
She's kilted up her green claithing, 
And met Jamie in the wud. 

When bells war rung, and mass was sung,- 

About the hour o' twa, 
It's up bespak her auld father, 

Says, " Peggy is awa' ! 

"Gae saddle to me the black, the black, 

Gae saddle to me the grey;" 
But ere they wan to the tap o' the hill, 

The wedding was a' bye. 



m 



[This ballad was originally published in the 
first edition of the Border Minstrelsy, under 
the title of the Laird of Laminton. In subse- 
quent editions it was given in a more perfect 
state with the above title. "The residence of 
the lady," says Sir Walter, "and the scene of 
the affray at her bridal, is said, by old people, 
to have been upon the banks of the Cadden, near 
to where it joins the Tweed. — Others say the 
skirmish was fought near Traquair, and Kathe- 
rine Janfarie's dwelling was in the glen about 
three miles above Traquair house."] 

There was a may, and a weel far'd may, 

Lived high up in yon glen ; 
Her name was Katherine Janfarie, 

She was courted by mony men. 

Up then came lord Lauderdale, 

Up frae the Lawland border; 
And he has come to court this may, 

A' mounted in good order. 

He told na her father, he told na her 
mother, 

And he told na ane o' her kin ; 
But he whisper'd the bonnie lassie herseP, 

And has her favour won. 

But out then cam' lord Lochinvar, 

Out frae the English border, 
All for to court this bonnie may, 

Weil mounted and in order 






He told her father, he told her mother, 

And a' the lave o' her kin ; 
But he told na the bonnie may hersel', 

Till on her wedding e'en. 

She sent to the lord o' Lauderdale, 

Gin he wad come and see ; 
And he has sent word back again> 

Weel answered she suld be. 

And he has sent a messenger 
Eight quickly through the land, 

And raised mony an armed man 
To be at his command. 

The bride looked out at a high window, 

Beheld baith dale and down, 
And she was aware of her first true love, 

"With riders mony a one. 

She scoffed him, and scorned him, 

Upon her wedding day ; 
And said — " It was the Fairy court 

To see him in array I 

< f O come ye here to fight, young lord, 

Or come ye here to play ? 
Or come ye here to drink good wine 

Upon the wedding day ?" 

*' I come na here to fight/' he said, 

" I come na here to play ; 
I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonnie bride, 

And mount, and go my way." 

It is a glass of the blood-red wine 

Was filled up them between, 
And aye she drank to Lauderdale, 

Wha her true love had been. 

He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, 
And b? the grass-green sleeve; 

He's mounted her hie behind himsel', 
At her kinsmen spear'd na leave, 

" Now take your bride, lord Lochinvar ! 

Now take her if you may { 
But, if you take your bride again, 

We'll call it but foul play." 

There were four and-twenty bonnie boys, 

A' clad in Johnstone grey ; 
They said they would take the bride again, 

By the strong hand if they may. 




Some o' them were right willing men, 
But they were na' willing a' ; 

And four-and-twenty Leader lads 
Bid them mount and ride awa'. 

Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides 
And swords flew frae the shea's, 

And red and rosy was the blood 
Ban down the lily braes. 

The blood ran down by Caddon bank, 

And down by Caddon brae ; 
And, sighing, said the bonnie bride — 

" waes me for foul play !" 

My blessing on your heart, sweet thing ! 

Wae to your wilfu' will ! 
There's mony a gallant gentleman 

Whae's blude ye have garr'd to spill. 

Now a' you lords of fair England, 

And that dwell by the English border. 

Come never here to seek a wife, 
For fear of sic disorder. 

They'll haik ye up, and settle ye bye, 

Till on your wedding day ; 
Then gie ye frogs instead offish, 

And play ye foul foul play. 



CATHERINE JOHNSTONE. 

[This is a somewhat different version of 
Katherine Janfarie, from Motherwell's collec- 
tion. Mr Motherwell says, " The present copy 
was obtained from recitation, in the West of 
Scotland, and is now given as exhibiting the 
state in which this popular ballad is there pre- 
served. The 10th stanza, 

" There w 
Sat a 

seems to contain an allusion to the Knights of 
the Bound Table." In Mr P. Buchan's Glean- 
ings from scarce Old Ballads, another but infe- 
rior version of the same is given, which it is 
unnecessary to quote. The highly spirited bal- 
lad of Lochinvar which occurs in Sir Walter 
Scott's tale of Marmion, was founded in a slight 



degree on the ballad of Katherine Janfarie or 
Johnstone. We therefore give it in the next 
page, that the reader may contrast the old and 
the modern production.] 

There was a lass as I heard say, 

Lived low doun in a glen ; 
Her name was Catherine Johnstone, 

Weel known to many men. 

Doun came the laird o' Lamington, 
Doun from the south countrie; 

And he is for this bonnie lass, 
Her bridegroom for to be. 

He's ask'd her father and mother, 

The chief of a' her kin'; 
And then he ask'd the bonnie lass, 

And did her favour win. 

^ Doun came an English gentleman, 
Doun from the English border ; 
He is for this bonnie lass, 
To keep his house in order. 

y^\r\ He ask'd her father and mother, 
L — yJ As I do hear them say ; 

--""'-- But he never ask'd the lass hersel', 
Till on her wedding day. 

But she has wrote a long letter, 
And seal'd it with her hand ; 
f And sent it to lord Lamington, 
To let him understand. 

/ The first line o' the letter he read, 
He was baith glad and fain, 
i But or he read the letter o'er, 
He was baith pale and wan. 

Then he has sent a messenger, 

And out through all his land ; 
And four-and-twenty armed men, 

Were all at his command. 

But he has left his merry men all ; 

Left them on the lee ; 
And he's awa' to the wedding house, 

To see what he could see. 

But when he came to the wedding house, 

As I do understand; 
There were four-and-twenty belted knights, 

Sat at a table round. 




They rose all to honour him, 

For he was of high renown ; 
They rose all for to welcome him, 

And bade him to sit down. 

meikle was the good red wine, 

In silver cups did flow ; 
But aye she drank to Lamington, 

For with him would she go. 

O meikle was the good red wine, 

In silver cups gaed round ; 
At length they began to whisper words. 

None could them understand. 

" came ye here for sport, young man, 

Or came ye here for play ? 
Or came ye for our bonnie bride, 

On this her wedding day ?" 

" I came not here for sport," he said, 

" Neither did I for play ; 
But for one word o' your bonnie bride, 

I'll mount and go away." 

They set her maids behind her, 
To hear what they would say ; 

But the first question he ask'd at her, 
Was always answered nay ; 

The next question he ask'd at her, 
Was, " Mount and come away ?" 

It's up the Couden bank, 

And doun the Couden brae ; 
And aye she made the trumpet sound, 

It's a weel won play. 

O meikle was the blood was shed, 

Upon the Couden brae ; 
And aye she made the trumpet sound, 

Its a' fair play^ 

Come a' ye English gentlemen, 

That is of England born ; 
Come na doun to Scotland, 

For fear ye get the scorn, 

They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words, 

And that's foul play ; 
And they'll dress you frogs instead offish. 

Just on your wedding day. 




k& 66 



nr 



LOCHINYAR. 
[Sir Walter Scott. — See the two previous ballads.] 

O ! young Lochinvar has come out of the west, 

Through all the wide border his steed was the best ; 

And, save his good broadsword he weapons had none, 

He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, 

He swam the Esk river where ford there was none ; 

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Helen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall, 

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all; 

Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 

" come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 

Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Lochinvar ?" 

" 1 long woo'd your daughter, my suit you deny'd; — 

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — 

And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, 

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar. 

The bride kiss'd the goblet ; the knight took it up, 

He quaff d off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 

She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, 

With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 

He took her soft hand, e'er her mother could barr — 

" Now tread me a measure !" said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; 

And the bride-maidens whisper'd 'twere better by far 

To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar. 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 

When they reach'd the ball door, and the charger stood near; 

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 

She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 

They'll have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; 

There was racing and chacing, on Cannobie lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see, 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 




S3? 



[Modern Ballad. — Eobert "White, — Origi- 
nally printed in the legendary department of a 
work entitled, " The Local Historian's Table 
Book for Northumberland and Durham," New- 
castle, 1842. — The scenery of this ballad is in 
Northumberland. Bothal Castle is beautifully 
situated on the Wansbeck, a few miles below 
Morpeth. At Otterburne stood a tower or castle 
which was long in possession of the Umphrevilles, 
a distinguished family; and the place has ac- 
quired great celebrity in Border history and song, 
from the battle fought there in 1388 between the 
heroes, Douglas and Percy.] 

By Bothal Tower, sweet Wansbeck's stream 

Rins bickerin' to the sea; 
Aloft, within the breeze o' morn, 

The banner's wavin' free. 

There's joy in Bothal's bonnie bowers; 

There's mirth within the ha' ; 
But owre the cheeks o' Lady Jean, 

The tricklin' tear-draps fa'. 

She sits within her chamber high — 

Her cousin by her side ; 
Yet sweer is she to don the dress 

That's fitting for a bride. 

" O haste ! lord Dacre's on his way ; 

Ye ha'e nae time to spare : 
Come let me clasp that girdle jimp, 

And braid your glossy hair. 

" Of a' the ladies i' the land, 

Ye'se be surpass'd by nane ; 
The lace that's on your velvet robe, 

Wi' goud 'ill stand its lane. 

" This jewelled chaplet ye'll put on — 

That broidered necklace gay ; 
For we maun ha'e ye buskit weel 

On this— your bridal day." — 

" O ! Ellen, ye would think it hard 

To wed against your will ! 
I never loo'd lord Dacre yet ; 

L dinna like him still. 



a He kens though oft he sued for love, 

Upon his bended knee, 
Ae tender word — ae kindly look, 

He never gat frae me. 

" And he has gained my mother's ear, — 

My father's stern command; 
Yet this fond heart can ne'er be his, 

Although he claim my hand. 

" O Ellen, softly list to me ! 

I still may 'scape the snare . 
When morning raise owre Otterburne, 

The tidings would be there. 

" And hurrying on comes Umphi'eville,- 

His spur is sharp at need . 
There's nane in a' Northumberland, 

Can mount a fleeter steed. 

" Ah ! weel I ken his heart is true — 

He will — he must be here : 
Aboon the garden wa' he'll wave 

The pennon o' his spear." — 

" Far is the gate, the burns are deep, 

The broken muirs are wide ; 
Fair lady, ere your true love come, 

Ye'll be lord Dacre's bride. 

" Wi' stately, solemn step the priest 

Climbs up the chapel stair : 
Alas ! alas ! for Umphreville ; 

His heart may weel be sair ! 

" Keep back ! keep back ! lord Dacre's steed — ■ 

Ye maunna trot nut gang : 
And haste ye ! haste ye ! Umphreville ! 

Your lady thinks ye lang." — 

In velvet sheen she wadna dress : 

Nae pearls owre her shone ; 
Nor broidered necklace, sparkling bright, 

Would lady Jean put on. 

Up raise she frae her cushion 'd seat, 

And tottered like to fa' ; 
Her eheek grew like the rose, and then 

Turned whiter than the sna'. 

*' O Ellen, thraw the casement up ; 

Let in the air to me : 
Look down within the castle-yard, 

And tell me what ye see." — 



"Your father's stan'in' on the steps— 
Your mother's at the door ; 

Out through the postern comes the train- 
Lord Dacre rides before. 

" Fu' yauld an' gracefu' lichts he down, 

Sae does his gallant band ; 
And low he doffs his bonnet plume, 

And shakes your father's hand. 

" List ! lady, list a bugle note ! 

It sounds not loud but clear; — 
Up ! up ! I see aboon the wa', 

Your true love's pennon'd spear V— 

An' up fu' quick gat lady Jean ; — 

Nae ailment had she mair : 
Blythe was her look, an' firm her step, 

As she ran down the stair. 

An' through amang the apple trees, 

An' up the walk she flew : 
Until she reached her true love's side, 

Her breath she scarcely drew. 

Lord Dacre fain would see the bride : 

He sought her bower alane ; 
But dowf an' bhinkit grew his look, 

"When lady Jean was gane. 

Sair did her father stamp an' rage — 

Sair did her mother mourn ; 
She's up an' off wi' Umphreville, 

To bonnie Otterburne. 



[From Messrs Kinloch and Buchan's collections.] 

A maiden stude in her bouir door, 

As jimp as a willow -wand ; 
When by there came a gardener lad, 

Wi' a primrose in his hand. 

" 0, ladye, are ye single yet, 

Or will ye marry me ? 
Ye'se get a' the flouirs in my garden, 

To be a weed for thee." 

" I love your flouirs," the ladye said ; 

" But I winna marry thee: 
For I can live without man -kind, 

And without man-kind I'll dee.' 



" You shall not live without man -kind ; 

But you shall marry me • 
And, among the flouirs in my garden, 

I'll shape a weed for thee. 

" The lilye flouir to be your smock; 

It becomes your bodie best. 
Your heid sail be basket wi' the gellye 
flouir ; 

The primrose in your breist. 

" Your goun sail be o' the sweet william ; 

Your coat o' the cammovine ; 
Your apron o' the seel o' downs : 

Come, smile, sweetheart o' mine ! 

" Your gloves sail be o' the green clover, \ 

All glitterin' to your hand ; 
Weil spread ower wi' the blue blawort, 

That grows among corn-land. 

" Your stockings shall be o' the cabbage leaf, 

That is baith braid and lang ; 
Narrow, narrow, at the kute, 

And braid, braid, at the branne. 

" Your shoon shall be o' the gude rue red ; 

I hope it bodes nae ill ; 
The buckles o' the marygold : 

Come, smile, sweetheart, your fill!" 

" Young man, ye've shapit a weed for me, 

Amang the simmer flouirs ; 
Now I will shape anither for you, 

Amang the winter shouirs.* 

" The snow so white shall be your shirt ; 

It becomes your bodie best : 
The cold east wind sail wrap your heid, 

And the cold rain on your breist. 

" The steed that you shall ride upon, 

Shall be the weather snell ; 
"Weil bridled wi' the northern wind, 

And cold sharp shouirs o' hail. 

The hat you on your heid sail wear, 

Sail be o' the weather grey ; 
And, aye when ye come into my sight, 

I'll wish ye were away." 



* A verse resembling this is sung by Davie 
Gcllatley in Waverley. 



Cm 






3& 



[There are at least four different versions of 
this affecting ballad extant. The first published, 
and by far the best, is that given in the Min- 
strelsy of the Scottish Border. The other ver- 
sions successively appeared in the collections of 
Messrs Jamieson, Kinloch, and Buchan. Mother- 
well says that he has heard a version called The 
Seven Bluidy Brothers, but he does not quote it. 
We can make room only here for two sets of the 
ballad— Scott's and Jamieson's, but we shall 
mark in a note the different readings of Kinloch 
and Buchan on the most striking passage in the 
story. Sir "Walter's version owes much of its 
beauty and fine effect to the appropriation of 
some verses from a different ballad, Sweet Wil- 
liam's Ghost, hereafter to be given. He thus in- 
troduces " Clerk Saunders" in the fifth edition of 
his Minstrelsy. — " This romantic ballad is taken 
from Mr Herd's MSS., with several corrections 
from a shorter and more imperfect copy, in the 
same volume, and one or two conjectural emen- 
dations in the arrangement of the stanzas. The 
resemblance of the conclusion to the ballad, be- 
ginning, ' There came a ghost to Margaret's 
door,' will strike every reader. The tale is un- 
commonly wild and beautiful, and apparently 
very ancient. The custom of the passing bell is 
still kept up in many villages in Scotland. The 
sexton goes through the town, ringing a small 
bell, and announcing the death of the departed, 
and the time of the funeral. The three con- 
cluding verses have been recovered since the first 
edition of this work : and I am informed by the 
reciter, that it was usual to separate from the 
rest that part of the ballad which follows the 
death of the lovers, as belonging to another 
story. For this, however, there seems no neces- 
sity, as other authorities give the whole as a 
complete tale."] 

Clerk Saunders and may Margaret 
Walked ower yon garden green ; 

And sad and heavy was the love 
That fell thir twa between. 

" A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said, 

" A bed for you and me !" 
" Fye na, fye na," said may Margaret, 

" Till anes we married be. 



" For in may come my seven bauld brothers, 

Wi' torches burning bright ; 
They'll say — ' We ha'e but ae sister, 

And behold she's wi' a knight!' " 

" Then take the sword frae my scabbard, 

And slowly lift the pin ; 
And you may swear, and safe your aith, 

Ye never let Clerk Saunders in. 

" And take a napkin in your hand, 
And tie up baith your bonnie een ; 

And you may swear, and safe your aith, 
Ye saw me na since late yestreen." 

It was about the midnight hour, 

When they asleep were laid, 
When in and came her seven brothers, 

Wi' torches burning red. 

When in and came her seven brothers,, * 

Wi' torches burning bright ; 
They said, " We ha'e but ae sister, 

And behold her lying with a knight !" 



* Mr Kinlocli's copy : 

Then in there cam' her firsten brother, 
Bauldly he cam' steppin' in: — 

" Come here, come here, see what I see, 
We ha'e only but ae sister alive, 
And a knave is in bou'r her wi' !" 

Then in and cam' her second blither— 
Says, " Twa lovers are ill to twin:" 

And in and cam' her thirden brother, — 
" O brother, dear, I say the same." 

Then in and cam' her fourthen brother, — 
" It's a sin to kill a slcepin' man :" 

And in and cam' her fifthen brother,— 
" O brother, dear, I say the same." 

Then in and cam' her sixthen brother, — 
" I wat he's ne'er be steer'd by me:" 

But in and cam' her seventh brother, — 
" I bear the hand that sail gar him dee." 

Mr Buchan's copy : 

Then in it came her seven brothers, 
And a' their torches burning bright; 

They said, " We ha'e hut ae sister, 
And here she's lying wi' a knight." 

O, out it speaks the first o' them, 
"We will awa' and let them be;" 

Then out it speaks the second o' them, 
" His father has nae mair but he." 



3 



mi 
m 



70 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Then out and spake the first o' them, 
" I bear the sword shall gar him die J" 

And out and spake the second o' them, 
" His father has nae mair than he !" 

And out and spake the third o' them, 
" I wot that they are lovers dear !" 

And out and spake the fourth o' them, 

"They ha'e been in love this mony a year !" 

Then out and spake the fifth o' them, 
" It were great sin true love to twain ! : ' 

And out and spake the sixth o' them, 

" It were shame to slay a sleeping man !" 

Then up and gat the seventh o' them, 

And never a word spake he ; 
But he has striped* his bright brown brand 

Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye. 

Clerk Saunders he started and Margaret she 
turn'd 

Into his arms as asleep she lay ; 
And sad and silent was the night 

That was atween thir twae. 

And they lay still and sleeped sound, 

Until the day began to daw ; 
And kindly to him she did say, 

" It is time, true love, you were awa'." 

But he lay still, and sleepit sound, 

Albeit the sun began to sheen; 
She looked atween her and the wa', 

And dull and drowsie were his een. 



Out it speaks the third o' them. 
For he was standing ob the birk; 

" Nae sweeter could twa lovers lye, 
Though they'd beeu married in a kirk.' : 

Then out it speaks the fourth o' them, 
" Mair fair and lovely is his buke; 

Our sister dear we cannot blame, 
Although in him she pleasure took." 

Then out it speaks the fifth o' them, 

It were a sin to do them ill; 
Then out it spake the sixth o' them, 

" It's hard a sleeping man to kill." 

But out it speaks the seventh o' them, 
(I wish an ill death mat he dee !) 

" I wear the sharp brand by my side, 
That soon shall gar Clerk Sandy die." 



Then in and came her father dear, 
Said — " Let a' your mourning be : 

I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay, 
And I'll come back and comfort thee." 

" Comfort weel your seven sons, 

For comforted will I never be : 
I ween 'twas neither knave nor lown 

Was in the bower last night wi' me." 

The clinking bell gaed through the town, 
To carry the dead corse to the clay ; 

And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's 
window, 
I wot, an hour before the day. 

" Are ye Bleeping, Margaret?" he says, 

" Or are ye waking presentlie ? 
Give me my faith and troth again, 

I wot, true love, 1 gied to thee." 

' ' Your faith and troth ye sail never get, 
Nor our true love sail never twin, 

Until ye come within my bower, 
And kiss me cheik and chin." 

" My mouth it is full cold, Margaret, 
It has the smell now of the ground ; 

And if I kiss thy comely mouth, 
Thy days of life will not be lang. 

" O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight, 
I wot the wild fowls are boding day; 

Give me my faith and troth again, 
And let me fare me on my way.' ; 

" Thy faith and troth thou sail na get, 
And our true love shall never twin, 

Until ye tell what comes of won en, 
I wot, who die in strong traivelling .■>" 

" Their beds are made in the heavens high, 
Down at the foot of our good lord's knee, 

Weel set about wi' gillyflowers ;* 
1 wot sweet company for to see. 




* From whatever source the popular ideas of 
heaven be derived, the mention of gillyflowers is 
not uncommon. Thus, in the Dead Men's Song— 

The fields about this city faire 

Were all with roses set ; 
Gillyflowers, and carnations faire, 

Which canker could not fret. 

Ritsou's Ancient Songs, p. 



* O cocks are crowing a merry mid -night, 
I wot the wild fowl are boding day ; 

The psalms of heaven will soon he sung, 
And I, ere now, will be missed away." 

Then she has ta'en a crystal wan, 

And she has stroken her troth thereon ; 

She has given it him out at the shot-window, 
Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan. 

" I thank ye, Marg'ret; I thank ye, Marg'ret ; 

And aye I thank ye heartilie ; 
Gin ever the dead come for the quick, 

Be sure, Marg'ret, I'll come for thee." 

Its hosen and shoon, and gown alone, 
She climbed the wall, and followed him, 

Until she came to the green forest, 
And there she lost the sight o' him. 

" Is there ony room at your head, Saunders ? 

Is there ony room at your feet ? 
Or ony room at your side, Saunders, 

Where fain, fain, I wad sleep ?" 

" There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret, 

There's nae room at my feet ; 
My bed it is full lowly now : 

Amang the hungry worms I sleep. 

" Cauld mould is my covering now, 

But and my winding-sheet ; 
The dew it falls nae sooner down, 

Than my resting-place is weet. 



The description, given in the legend of Sir 

II / Owain, of the terrestrial paradise, at which the 

~/-, blessed arrive, after passing through purgatory, 

omits gillyflowers, though it mentions many 

' ."■ "-■•-"' others. As the passage is curious, and the legend 

has never been published, many persons may not 

be displeased to see it extracted — 

Fair were her erbers with flowers, 
Itose and lili divers colours, 

Primrol and parvink ; 
Mint, feverfoy, and eglenterre, 
Columbin, and mo ther wer 

Than ani man mai bithenke. 

It berth erbes of other maner, 
Than ani in erth groweth here, 

Tho that is lest of priis ; 
Evermore thai grene springeth, 
For winter no somer it no clingeth; 

And sweeter than licorice. — Scott. 



" But plait a wand o' bonnie birk,* 

And lay it on my breast ; 
And shed a tear upon my grave, 

And wish my saul gude rest. 

" And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret, 

And Marg'ret o' veritie, 
Gin e'er ye love another man, 

Ne'er love him as ye did me," 

Then up and crew the milk-white cock* 
And up and crew the gray ; 

Her lover vanish'd in the air, 
And she gaed weeping away. 



CLERK SAUNDERS. 

[Jamieson's version. — Mr Jamieson says that 
had he " been aware, in time, of the superiority 
in contrivance and effect of Mr Scott's copy, he 
would most cheerfully have given up his own for 
its farther improvement ; but that not having 
been the case, as he is of opinion, that the fol- 
lowing variety of this affecting tale is still sufl> 
ciently curious to merit preservation, he has 
thought proper to adopt it, more from a hope of 
gratifying the curious antiquary, than of pre- 
senting the mere belles lettres critic with any 
thing deserving of his notice or approbation. 

Nothing could have been better imagined 
than the circumstance, in Mr Scott's copy, of 
killing Clerk Saunders while his mistress was 
asleep ; nor can any thing be more natural or 



* The custom of binding the new-laid sod of 
the church yard with osiers, or other saplings, 
prevailed both in England and Scotland, and 
served to protect the turf from injury by cattle, or 
otherwise. It is alluded to by Gay in the "What 
d'ye call it— 

Slay, let me pledge, 'tis my last earthly liquor, 
When I am dead you'll bind my grave with wicker. 

In the Shepherd's Week, the same custom is 
alluded to, and the cause explained : — 

With wicker rods we fenced her tomb around, 
To ward, from man and beast, the hallowed ground, 
I est her new grave the parson's cattle raze, 
For both hU horse and cow the church-yard graze. 
Fifth Pastoral.- Scott, 










m 



pathetic than the three stanzas that follow. 
They might have charmed a whole volume of 
bad poetry against the ravages of time ; in Mr 
Scott's volumes they shine but like pearls among 
diamonds. 

' Cleik Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn'd 

Into his arms, as asleep she lay ; 
And sad and silent was the night 

That was atween thir twae. 
« And they lay still and sleeped sound, 

Until the day began to daw; 
And kindly to him she did say, 

" It's time, true love, you were awa'." 

« But he lay still and sleeped sound, 

Albeit the sun be^an to sheen ; 
She lookit atween her and the wa', 

And dull and drowsie were his een.' 

The following copy was transmitted by Mrs 
Arrott of Aberbrothick. The stanzas, where 
the seven brothers are introduced, have been 
enlarged from two fragments, which, although 
very defective in themselves, furnish lines which, 
when incorporated with the text, seemed to im- 
prove it. Stanzas 21 and 22 were written by the 
editor ; the idea of the rose being suggested by 
the gentleman who recited, but who could not 
recollect the language in which it was ex- 
pressed."] 

Clerk Saunders was an earl's son, 

He lived upon sea-sand ; 
May Margaret was a king's daughter, 

She lived in upper land. 

Clerk Saunders was an earl's son, 

Weel learn'd at the scheel ; 
May Margaret was a king's daughter; — 

They baith lo'ed ither weel. 

He's throw the dark, and throw the mark, 
And throw the leaves o' green ; 

Till he came to May Margaret's door, 
And tirled at the pin. 

" O sleep ye, wake ye, May Margaret, 

Or are ye the bower within ?'' 
" O wha is that at my bower door, 

Sae weel my name does ken ?" 
" It's I, Clerk Saunders, your true love, 

You'll open and let me in." 

" O will ye to the cards, Margaret, 

Or to the table to dine ? 
Or to the bed, that's weel down spread 

And sleep when we get time." 



" I'll no go to the cards/' she says, 

" Nor to the table to dine ; 
But I'll go to a bed, that's weel down spread 

And sleep when we get time." 

They were not weel leyn down, 

And no weel fa'en asleep, 
"When up and stood May Margaret's bre- 

Just up at their bed feet. [thren, 

" tell us, tell us, May Margaret, 

And dinna to us len,* 
wha is aught yon noble steed, 

That stands your stable in ?" 

" The steed is mine, and it may be thine, 
To ride whan ye ride on hie — 



" But awa', awa', my bauld brethren, 

Awa', and mak' nae din ; 
For I am as sick a lady the nicht 

As e'er lay a bower within." 

" tell us, tell us, May Margaret, 

And dinna to us len, 
wha is aught yon noble hawk, 

That stands your kitchen in ?'* 

" The hawk is mine, and it may be thine, 
To hawk whan ye hawk in hie — 



" But awa', awa', my bald brethren ! 

Awa' and mak' nae din ; 
For I'm ane o' the sickest ladies this nicht 

That e'er lay bower within." 

" O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, 

And dinna to us len, 
O wha is that, May Margaret, 

You and the wa' between ?" 

" O, it is my bower-maiden," she says, 

" As sick as sick cam be ; 
O, it is my bower-maiden," she says, 

" And she's thrice as sick as me." 

* The term len, in this sense, is, so far as I Qi 

know, now obsolete in Scotland. It here means Q 

to stop or hesitate, and is used in the same sense / 

by Browne, in his " Britannia's Pastorals." It Vjp* 
j seems to be the same with the old English and 
ft Scottish blin, to cease, or 6top.— Jamieton. 



" We ha'e been east, and we've been west, 

And low beneatb the moon ; 
But a' the bower-women e'er we saw 

Hadna goud buckles in their shoon." 

Then up and spak' her eldest brither, 

Aye in ill time spak' he ; 
" It is Clerk Saunders, your true love, 

And never mat I thee, 
But for this scorn that he has done, 

This moment he sail die." 

But up and spak' her youngest brother; 

Aye in good time spak' he : 
" O, but they are a gudelie pair ! — 

True lovers an ye be, 
The sword that hangs at my sword-belt 

Shall never sinder ye !" 

Syne up and spak' her nexten brother, 

And the tear stood in his e'e, 
"You've lo'ed her lang, and lo'ed her 
weel, 

And pity it wad be, 
The sword that hangs at my sword-belt 

Shoud ever sinder ye !" 

But up and spak' her fiften brother, 

" Sleep on your sleep for me ; 
But we baith sail never sleep again, 

For the tane of us sail die !" 

But up and spak' her midmaist brother; 

And an angry laugh leuch he ; 
" The thorn that dabs I'll cut it down, 

Though fair the rose may be. 

" The flower that smell'd sae sweet yestreen 

Has lost its bloom wi' thee ; 
And though I'm wae it should be sae, 

Clerk Saunders, ye maun die." 

And up and spak* her thirden brother, 

Aye in ill time spak' he ; 
" Curse on his love and comeliness ! — 

Dishonour'd as ye be, 
The sword that hangs at my sword-belt 

Sail quickly sinder ye!" 

Her eldest brother has drawn his sword ; 

Her second has drawn anither ; 
Between Clerk Saunders' hause and collar 
bane 

The cald iron met thegither. 



" wae be to you, my fause brethren, 

And an ill death mat ye die ! 
Ye mith slain Clerk Saunders in open field, 

And no in the bed wi' me." 

When seven years were come and gane, 
Lady Margaret she thought lang ; 

And she is up to the hichest tower, 
By the lee licht o" the moon. 

She was lookin' o'er her castle high, 

To see what she might fa' ; 
And there she saw a grieved ghost 

Comin' waukin' o'er the wu\ 

" 0, are ye a man of mean," she says, 

Seekin' ony o' my meat ? 
Or are you a rank robber, 

Come in my bower to break ?" 

" O, I'm Clerk Saunders, your true love ; 

Behold, Margaret, and see. 
And mind, for a' your meikle pride, 

Sae will become of thee." 

" Gin ye be Clerk Saunders, my true love, 

This meikle marvels me — 
wherein is your bonnie arms 

That wont to embrace me ?" 

" By worms they're eaten ; in mools they're 
Behold, Margaret, and see ; [rotten ; 

And mind, for a' your miclde pride, 
Sae will become o' thee !" 

bonnie, bonnie sang the bird, 

Sat on the coil o' hay ; 
But dowie d -wie was the maid, 

That follow'd the corpse o' clay. 

" Is there ony room at your head, Saunders, 

Is there ony room at your feet ? 
Is there ony room at your twa sides 

For a lady to lie and sleep ?" 

" There is nae room at my head, Margaret ; 

As little at my feet ; 
There is nae room at my twa sides 

For a lady to lie and sleep. 

" But gae hame, gae name, now, May Marga* 
Gae hame and sew your seam ; [ret; 

For if ye were laid in your weel-made bed, 
Your days will nae be lang," 




Ik un^ 3U 



[From Motherwell's collection. "This bal- 

? lad," says Mr Motherwell, " which possesses 

W* considerable beauty and pathos, is given from 
the recitation of a lady now far advanced 






£§2 



years, with whose grandmother it was a deserved 
favourite. It is now for the first time printed. 
It bears some resemblance to Clerk Saunders."] 

Sweet Willie was a widow's son, 
And he wore a milk-white weed, ; 

And weel could "Willie read and write, 
Far better ride on steed, 0. 

Lady Margerie was the first ladye, 

That drank to him the wine, O ; 
And aye as the healths gaed round and round, 

" Laddy, your love is mine, O." 

Lady Margerie was the first ladye, 

That drank to him the beer, ; 
And aye as the healths gaed round and round, 

"Laddy, ye're welcome here, O." 

" You must come intill my bower, 
When the evening bells do ring, O ; 

And you must come intill my bower, 
When the evening mass doth sing, O," 

He's ta'en four-and-twenty braid arrows, 

And laced them in a whang, O ; 
And he's awa' to lady Margerie's bower, 

As fast as he can gang, 0. 

He set his ae foot on the wa', 

And the other on a stane, ; 
And he's kill'd a' the king's life guards, 

He's kill'd them every man, O. 

" Oh open, open, lady Margerie, 

Open and let me in, O ; 
The weet weets a' my yellow hair, 

And the dew draps on my chin, 0." 

With her feet as white as sleet, 

She strod her bower within, ; 
And with her fingers lang and sma', 

She's looten sweet Willie in, O. 



She's louted down unto his foot, 
To lowze sweet Willie's shoon, ; 

The buckles were sae stiff they wadna lowze, 
The blood had frozen in, O. 

" O Willie, Willie, I fear that thou 
Hast bred me dule and sorrow ; 

The deed that thou hast done this nicht, 
Will kythe upon the morrow." 

In then came her father dear, 

And a braid sword by his gare, O ; 

And he's gi'en Willie, the widow's son, 
A deep wound and a sair, O 

" Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, 
" Tour sweat weets a' my side, O ; 

Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, 
"For your sweat I downa bide, O." 

She turned her back unto the wa', 

Her face unto the room, O ; 
And there she saw her auld father, 

Fast walking up and doun, O. 

" Woe be to you, father," she said, 
" And an ill deid may you die, O ; 

For ye've kill'd Willie, the widow's son, 
And he would have married me, O." 

She turned her back unto the room, 

Her face unto the wa', O ; 
And with a deep and heavy sich, 

Her heart it brake in twa, O. 



bfowk Mllhm mh JMug 






iUrnz 



[From Mr Kinloch's collection.—" Though 
this." says Mr Kinloch, " is evidently a distinct 
ballad from ' Clerk Saunders,' yet the editor of j 
the Border Minstrelsy has incorporated it with ^ 
that ballad ; notwithstanding it appears that he 
was informed by the reciter, that it was usual to 
separate from the rest, that part of the ballad 
which follows the death of the lovers, as belong- 
ing to another story. ' For this, however,' says 
\ he, ' there seems no necessity, as other authori- 



ties give the whole as a complete tale.' — Vol. II. 
page 405. The editor has i btair.ed two copies of 
this ballad, as quite unconnected with ' Clerk 
Saunders,' and founded upon a different story. 
Another version of it, in the present form, under 
the title of ' Sweet William's Ghost, 1 will be 
found in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, and a 
similar one in the c Minstrelsy Ancient and 
Modern,' entitled "William and Marjorie."] 

As May Marg'ret sat in her bouerie, 

In her bouer all alone, 
At the very parting o' midnicht, 

She heard a mournfu' moan. 

" is it my father, is it my mother ? 

Or is it my brother John ? 
Or is it sweet William, my ain true love, 

To Scotland new come home ?" 

" It is na your father, it is na your mother, 

It is na your brother John : 
But it is sweet William, your ain true-love, 

To Scotland new come home." — 

" Ha'e ye brought me onie fine things, 

Onie new thing for to wear ? 
Or ha'e ye brought me a braid o* lace, 

To snood up my gowden bair ?" 

" I've brought ye na fine things at all, 

Nor onie new thing to wear, 
2>or ha'e I brought ye a braid of lace, 

To snood up your gowden hair. 

" But Margaret ! dear Margaret ! 

I pray ye speak tome; 
O gi'e me back my faith and troth, 

As dear as I gied it thee." 

" Your faith and troth ye sanna get, 

2sor will I wi' ye twin, 
Till ye come within my bouer, 

And kiss me cheek and chin." 

"0 Margaret! dear Margaret.' 

I pray ye speak to me; 
O gi'e me back my faith and troth, 

As dear as I gied it thee." 



| 



" Your faith and troth ye sanna get, 

Xor will I wi' ye twin, 
Till ye tak' me to yonder kirk, 

And wed me wi' a ring." 



"0 should I come within your bouer, 

I am na earthly man ; 
If I should kiss your red, red lips, 

Your days wad na be lang. 

"My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard, 

It's far ayont the sea ; 
And it is my spirit, Margaret, 

That's speaking unto thee." 

" Your faith and troth ye sanna get, 

2s"or will I twin we thee, 
Till ye tell me the pleasures o* heaven, 

And pains of hell how they be." 

" The pleasures of heaven I wat not of, 

But the pains of hell I dree ; 
There some are hie hang'd for huring, 

And some for adulterie." 

Then Marg'ret took her milk-white hand, >^=^ij 

And smooth'd it on his breast; — 
" Tak' your faith and troth, William, 

God send your soul good rest." 



-/:—; ^i!;;i-;* &"::r;. 



[From the fourth volume of Ramsay's Tea 
Table Miscellany. Ritson says, " The two last V 

stanzas were probably added by Ramsay : they ^d^H 
are evidently spurious.''] 

There came a ghost to Marg'ret's door, (Cjb- 1 

With many a grievous groan ; 
And aye he tirled at the pin, 

But answer made she none. 

" Is that my father Philip ? 

Or is't my brother John ? 
Or is't my true love Willie, 

From Scotland new come home ?" 

" : Tis not thy father Philip, 

Nor yet thy brother John ; 
But 'tis thy true love Willie, 

From Scotland new come home. 

sweet Marg'ret ! dear Marg'ret ' 

I pray thee speak to n.e ; 
Give me my faith and troth, Marg'ret, 

As I gave it to thee." 




% 



m 



" Thy faith and troth thou'a never get, 

Nor yet will I thee lend, 
Till that thou come within my bower, 

And kiss my cheek and chin." 

" If I should come within thy bower, 

I am no earthly man ; 
And should I kiss thy rosy lips, 

Thy days will not be lang. 

" O sweet Marg'ret! O dear Marg'ret! 

I pray thee speak to me ; 
Give me my faith and troth, Marg'ret, 

As I gave it to thee." 

" Thy faith and troth thou's never get, 

"Nor yet will I thee lend, 
Till you take me to yon kirk-yard, 

And wed me with a ring." 

" My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard, 

Afar beyond the sea ; 
And it is but my spirit, Marg'ret, 

That's now speaking to thee." 

She stretch'd out her lilly-white hand, 

And for to do her best, 
" Hae, there's your faith and troth, Willie, 

God send your soul good rest." 

Now she has kilted her robes of green, 

A piece below her knee, 
And a' the live-lang winter night, 

The dead corp followed she. 

" Is there any room at your head, Willie ? 

Or any room at your feet ? 
Or any room at your side, Willie, 

Wherein that I may creep ?" 



" There's no room at my head, Marg'ret, 
r>B=-J There's no room at my feet ; 

'tTZiz There's no room at my side, Marg'ret, 
My coffin 's made so meet." 

Then up and crew the red red cock, 

And up then crew the gray : 
" 'Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Marg'ret, 
1 (pj That you were going away." 

[Qj*\ No more the ghost to Marg'ret said, 
But with a grievous groan, 
Evani6h'd in a cloud of mist, 
And left her all alone. 



"0 stay, my only true love, stay," 
The constant Marg'ret cry'd ; 

Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een, 
Stretch'd her soft limbs and dy'd. 



[From Motherwell's Collection.] 

LAiur Marjorie, lady Marjorie, 

Sat sewing her silken seam, 
And by her came a pale, pale ghost 

Wi' mony a sigh and mane. 

" Are ye my father the king," she says, 

" Or are ye my brither John ? 
Or are ye my true love sweet William, 

From England newly come?" 

" I'm not your father the king," he says, 
" No, no, nor your brither John ; 

But I'm your true love sweet William, 
From England that's newly come." 

"Have ye brought me any scarlet sae red. 

Or any of the silks sae fine ; 
Or have ye brought me any precious things 

That merchants have for sale." 

"I have not brought you any scarlets sa< 
red, 

No, no, nor the silks sae fine ; 
But I have brought you my winding-sheet 

Ower many a rock and hill. 

" Lady Marjorie, lady Marjorie! 

For faith an' charitie, 
Will ye gi'e to me my faith and troth 

That I gave once to thee ?" 

" O your faith and troth I'll not gi'e to thee, 

No, no, that will not I, 
Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips, 

And in my arms you lye." 

" My lips they are sae bitter," he says— 

" My breath it is sae Strang ; 
If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips, 

Your days will not be lang. 







"The cocks are craving, Marjorie," he says — 

" The cocks are era wing again; 
It's time the dead should part frae the quick — 

Marjorie, I must be gane." 



She followed him high, — she followed him low, 
Till she came to yon churchyard green; 

And there the deep grave opened up, 
And young William he lay down. 

" What three things are these, sweet William," 
she says, 

" That stands here at your head ?" 
" it's three maidens, Marjorie," he says, 

"That I promised once to wed." 

" What three things are these, sweet William," 
she says, 

" That stand close at your side ?" 
" it's three babes, Marjorie," he says, 

"That these three maidens had." 

" What three things are these, sweet William," 
she says, 

" That lye close at your feet ?" 
" O it's three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says, 

" That's waiting my soul to keep." 

O she took up her white, white hand, 
And she struck him on the breast ; 

Saying — " Have there again your faith and 
troth, 
And I wish your saul gude rest." 



£ : sik i^lBirpr^t em^ JbSmt 



[From Percy's collection. — " This seems," says 
Dr Percy, " to be the old song quoted in Flet- 
cher's 'Knight of the Burning Pestle,' Acts 2d 

-. ! and 3d; although the six lines there preserved 
are somewhat different from those in the ballad, 
as it stands at present. The reader will not 

%j wonder at this, when he is informed that this is 
only given from a modern printed copy picked 
up on a stall. Its full title is, ' Fair Mar- 
garet's Misfortunes; or Sweet William's fright- 
ful dreams on his wedding night, with the sud- 
den death and burial of those noble lovers.' — 



These lines have acquired an importance by 
; giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads 

in our own or any other language," — (alluding to 
' the ballad of " William and Margaret," given 

afterwards.)] 






As it fell out on a long summer's day 

Two lovers they sat on a hill; 
They sat together that long summer's day, 

And could not talk their fill. 

I see no harm by you, Margaret, 

And you see none by mee ; 
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock 

A rich wedding you shall see. 

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window, 

Combing her yellow hair; 
There she spyed sweet William and his bride, 

As they were a riding near. 

Then down she layd her ivory combe, 
And braided her hair in twain : 

She went alive out of her bower, 
But ne'er came alive in't again. 

When day was gone, and night was come, 

And all men fast asleep, 
Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret, 

And stood at William's feet. 

" Are you awake, sweet William ?" she said j 
" Or, sweet William, are you asleep ? 

G-od give you joy of your gay bride-bed, 
And me of my winding sheet." 

When day was come, and night was gone, 
And all men wak'd from sleep, 

Sweet William to his lady said, 
" My dear, I have cause to weep. 

" I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye, 

Such dreames are never good : 
I dreamt my bower was full of red ' 

And my bride-bed full of blood." 



Such dreams, such dreams, myhonour'd sir, 
They never do prove good ; 
To dream thy bower was full of red ' wine,' 
And thy bride-bed full of blood." 

He called up his merry men all, 

By one, by two, and by three ; 
Saying, " I'll away to fair Marg'ref s bower, 

By the leave of my ladie." 

And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower, 

He knocked at the ring ; 
And who so ready as her seven brethren 

To let sweet William in. 

Then he turned up the covering-sheet, 

" Pray let me see the dead ; 
Methinks she looks all pale and wan, 

She hath lost her cherry red. 

" I'll do more for thee, Marg'ret, 

Than any of thy kin ; 
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips, 

Though a smile I cannot win." 

With that bespake the seven brethren, 

Making most piteous mone : 
" You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 

And let our sister alone." 

" If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, 

I do but what is right ; 
I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse 

By day, nor yet by night. 

" Deal on, deal on, my merry men all, 
Deal on your cake and your wine : 

For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day, 
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine." 

Fair Marg'ret dyed to-day, to-day, 
Sweet William dyed to-morrow : 

Fair Marg'ret dyed for pure true love, 
Sweet William dyed for sorrow. 

Marg'ret was buryed in the lower chancel, 

And William in the higher: 
Out of her breast there sprang a rose, 

And out of his a briar. 

They grew till they grew unto the church top, 
And then they could grow no higher; 

And there they tyed in a true loves' knot, 
Which made all the people admire. 



Then came the clerk of the parish, 
As you the truth shall hear, 

And by misfortune cut them down, 
Or they had now been there. 



u®& JfeEgaw* 



["This ballad, which appeared in some of the 
public newspapers in or before the year 1724, came 
from the pen of David Mallet, who in the edi- 
tion of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that 
the plan was suggested by the stanza (quoted 
in the introduction to the previous ballad, Fair 
Margaret and Sweet William), which he suppos- 
ed to be the beginning of some ballad now lost. 
* These lines,' says he, ' naked of ornament and 
simple as they are, struck my fancy ; and bring- 
ing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure 
much talked of formerly, gave birth to the fol- 
lowing poem, which was written many years 
ago.' The two introductory lines, and one or 
two others elsewhere, had originally more of the 
ballad simplicity, viz. 

' "When all was wrarjt in dark midnight, 
And all were fV.-t'; sleep,' .5 c. 

"In a publication entitled The Friends, &c. 
Lond. 1773, 2 vols. 12mo, (in the first volume) is 
inserted a copy of the ballad, with very great 
variations, which the editor of that work con- 
tends was the original ; and that Mallet adopted 
it for his own, and altered it as here given. — 
But the superior beauty and simplicity of the 
present copy gives it so much more the air of an 
original, that it will rather be believed that 
some transcriber altered it from Mallet's, and 
adapted the lines to his own taste ; than which 
nothing is more common in popular songs and 
ballads." — Dr Percy. 

It was in the Plain Dealer, a periodical paper 
published in 1724, that William and Margaret 
first appeared. Mallet was then a very young 
man, having been born about the beginning of 
the century. He died in 1765. He was a native j 
of Crieff in Perthshire, and for some time tutor in 
the Montrose family, through whose influence he 
first got introduced into public life. Malloch was 
his original name, but after he took up his resi- 
dence in London, he changed it to Mallet, find- 
ing probably the och too much for Cockney 
utterance. William and Margaret has been ex- | 






travagantly praised by some. Even the caustic 
Ritson calls it one of the finest ballads that was 
ever written. On the other hand, Sir Walter 
Scott says, " The ballad, though the best of Mal- 
let's writing, is certainly inferior to its original, 
which 1 presume to be the very fine and even 
terrific old Scottish tale, beginning, 

' There came a ghost to Margaret's door.' " 

In the Harp of Renfrewshire, pp. 122-128, an 
elaborate but unsuccessful attempt is made to 
deprive Mallet of the authorship of the ballad. 
In an edition, also, of Andrew Marvell's Works, 
London 1776, the editor claims the ballad for 
Marvell, on the ground of an old MS. volume, 
in Marvell's own hand ; but Mr David Laing says 
the volume contains a number of pieces evidently 
transcribed forty years subsequent to Marvell's 
death.] 

•Twas at the silent solemn hour, 
When night and morning meet ; 

In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 
And stood at William's feet. 

Her face was like an April morn, 

Clad in a wintry cloud : 
And clay-cold was her lily hand, 

That held her sable shrowd. 

So shall the fairest face appear, 
When youth and years are flown : 

Such is the robe that kings must wear, 
When death has reft their crown. 

Hei bloom was like the springing flower, 

That sips the silver dew ; 
The rose was budded in her cheek, 

Just opening to the view. 

But love had, like the canker-worm, 

Consum'd her early prime : 
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ; 

She died before her time. 

" Awake !' : she cried, "thy true love calls, 
Come from her midnight grave ; 

Now let thy pity hear the maid 
Thy love refused to save. 

'* This is the dark and dreary hour 
When injur'd ghosts complain ; 

Now yawning graves give up their dead, 
To haunt the faithless swain. 



" Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, 

Thy pledge and broken oath : 
And give me back my maiden vow, 

And give me back my troth. 

" Why did you promise love to me, 

And not that promise keep ? 
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 

Yet leave those eyes to weep . J 

" How could you say my face was fair 

And yet that face forsake ? 
How could you win my virgin heart, 

Yet leave that heart to break ? 

" Why did you say my lip was sweet, 

And made the scarlet pale ? 
And why did I, young witless maid, 

Believe the flattering tale ? 

" That face, alas ! no more is fair ; 

These lips no longer red ; 
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, 

And every charm is fled. 

" The hungry worm my sister is ; 

This winding-sheet I wear: 
And cold and weary lasts our night, 

Till that last morn appear. 

" But hark ! the cock has warn'd me hence i 

A long and last adieu I 
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 

Who died for love of you.'' 

The lark sung loud ; the morning smil'd 

"With beams of rosy red : 
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb, 

And raving left his bed. 

He hied him to the fatal place 

Where Margaret's body lay : 
And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf, s ^^Z 

That wrapt her breathless clay : 

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 

And thrice he wept full sore : 
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, \^^^ 

And word spake never more. 



Ajg^l)te^^ 



i [This parody on the foregoing ballad -we find 
in the third volume of Ramsay's Tea Table Mis- 
cellany. It is also given in Herd's Collection, 
but has been little, if at all, quoted in later col- 
lections, so that it must be new to most of our 
readers. "We do not insert it here from any 
admiration of its smartness, (though it is not 
without merit,) but simply as illustrative of the 
reputation of the ballad of William and Mar- 
garet ; for no better evidence of the popularity 
of a piece can be adduced, than that it has been 
made the subject of imitation or parody. In 
the compass of 12 pages, beginning with Clerk 
Saunders, p. 6i), and ending with the present 
production, the reader has now before him a 
collection of ballads all related more or less to 
each other, and on which he is thus enabled to 
form a judgment, as it were, at one view.] 

'Twas at the shining mid -day hour 

When all began to gaunt, 
That hunger rugg'd at Watty's breast, 

And the poor lad grew faint. 

His face was like a bacon ham 

That lang in reek had hung, 
And horn-hard was his tawny hand 

That held his hazel-rung. 

So wad the saftest face appear 

Of the maist dressy spark, 
And such the hands that lords wad ha'e, 

Were they kept close at wark. 

His head was like a heathery bush 

Beneath his bonnet blue, 
On his braid cheeks, frae lug to lug, 

His bairdy bristles grew. 

But hunger, like a gnawing worm, 
Gade rumbling through his kyte, 

And nothing now but solid gear 
Could give his heart delyte. 

He to the kitchen ran with speed, 

To his loved Madge he ran, 
Sunk down into the chimney-nook 

With visage sour and wan. 



" Get up," he cries, " my crieshy love, 

Support my sinking saul 
With something that is fit to chew, 

Be't either het or caul. 

u This is the how and hungry hour, 

When the best cures for grief 
Are cogue-fu's of the lythy kail, 

And a good junt of beef." 

" Oh Watty, Watty," Madge replies, 

" I but o'er justly trow'd 
Your love was thowless, and that ye 

For cake and pudding woo'd. 

" Bethink thee, Watty, on that night, 

When all were fast asleep, 
How ye kiss'd me frae cheek to cheek, 

Now leave these cheeks to dreep. 

e ' How could ye ca' my hurdies fat, 

And comfort of your sight ? 
How could ye roose my dimpled hand, 

Now all my dimples slight ? 

" Why did you promise me a snood, 

To bind my locks sae brown ? 
Why did you me fine garters heght, 

Yet let my hose fa' down ? 

" O faithless Watty, think how aft 

I ment your sarks and hose ! 
For you how mony bannocks stown, 

How many cogues of brose. 

'* But hark ! — the kail -bell rings, and I 

Maun gae link aff the pot; 
Come see, ye hash, how sair I sweat, 

To stegh your guts, ye sot." 

The grace was said, the master serv'd, 

Fat Madge return'd again, 
Blythe Watty raise and rax'd himseP, 

And fidg'd he was sae fain. 

He hied him to the savoury bench, 

Where a warm haggies stood, 
And gart his gooly through the bag, 

Let out its fat heart's blood, 

And thrice he cried, "Oomeeat, dear Madge, 

Of this delicious fare ; " 
Syne claw'd it aff most cleverly, 

Till he could eat nae mair. 



[This most instructive ballad was first pub- 
"V / lished in Percy's collection, (1755,) frcm the old 
^ >' \ folio MS. in the editor's possession, to which he 
-. was so largely indebted in compiling his work, 
and the existence of which Eitson continued to 
doubt, notwithstanding the most satisfactory 
evidence to the contrary, in the testimony of 
— many learned men who had seen and examined 
it. The present copy is from the fifth edition of 
■gfA the " Reliques," where the ancient readings are 
restored. Bishop Percy says, " The original of 
this ballad is found in the editor's folio MS. the 
breaches and defects in which render the inser- 
. tion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These 
it is hoped the reader will pardon, as indeed the 
completion of the story was suggested by a mo- 
dern ballad on a similar subject. From the 
wL Scottish phrases here and there discernible in 
\ this poem, it should seem to have been original - 
\ \ ty composed beyond the Tweed. The Heir of 
Linne appears not to have been a lord of parlia- 
ment, but a laird, whose title went along with 
his estate." 
Motherwell says, " The traditionary version 
-v, in Scotland begins thus : 

" The bonnie heir, the weel-faured heir, 

And the wearie heir o' Linne ; 
., Yonder he stands at his father's gate, 

And naehody bids him come in. 
O, see where he stands, and see where he gangs, 

The weary heir o' Linne; 
O, see where he stands on the cauld causey, 

Some ane wald ta'en him in. 

But if he had heen his father's heir, 

Or yet the heir o' Linne, 
He wadna stand on the cauld causey, 

Some ane wad ta'en him in." 

We find in no collection a continuation of this 
version.] 

P^kt the First. 

Lithe and listen, gentlemen, 

To sing a song I will beginne : 
It is of a lord of faire Scotland, 

Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne. 

His father was a right good lord, 
His mother a lady of high degree ; 

But they, alas ! were dead, him froe, 
And he loved keeping companie. 



J 






To spend the daye with merry cheare, 

To drinke and revell every night, 
To card and dice from eve to morne, 

It was, I ween, his heart's delighte. 

To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare, 

To always spend and never spare, 
I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, 

Of gold and fee he mote be bare. 

Soe fares the unthrifty lord of L!nne 

Till all his gold is gone and spent; 
And he maun sell his landes so broad, 

His house, and landes, and all his rent. 

His father had a keen stewarde, 

And John o' the Scales was called hee : 

But John is become a gentel-man, 
And John has gott both gold and fee. 

Saves, " Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne, 

Let nought disturb thy merry cheere ; 
Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad, 

Good store of gold He give thee heere." 

" My gold is gone, my money is spent; 

My lande nowe take it unto thee : 
Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales, 

And thine for aye my lande shall bee." 

Then John he did him to record draw, 
And John he cast him agod's-pennie;* 

But for every pounde that John agreed, 
The lande, I wis, was well worth three 

He told him the gt Id upon the borde, 

He was right glad his land to winne; 
" The gold is thine, the land is mine, 

And now He be the lord of Linne." 

Thus he hath sold his land soe broad, 

Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne, \=S^ 
All but a poore and lonesome lodge, 

That stood far off in a lonely glenne. 



* i. e. earnest money ; from the French Denier 
a Dieu. At this day, when application is made 
to the Bean and Chapter of Carlisle to accept 
an exchange of the- tenant under one of their 
leases, a piece of silver is presented by the new 
tenant, which is still called a " God's-penny." 

Percy. 



55 




fe) 



si 



r^ 



For soe he to his father hight : 

" My sonne, when I am gonne," sayd hee, 
" Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad, 

And thou wilt spend thy gold so free : 

" But sweare me nowe upon the roode, 
That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend ; 

For when all the world doth frown on thee, 
Thcu there shalt find a faithful friend." 

The heir of Linne is full of golde : 

And "come with me, my friends," sayd hee, 
'* Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make, 

And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee." 

They ranted, drank, and merry made, 
Till all his gold it waxed thinne ; 

And then his friendes they slunk away; 
They left the unthrifty heir of Linne. 

He had never a penny left in his purse, 

Never a penny left tut three, 
And one was brass, another was lead, 

And another it was white monie. 

" Nowe well-a-day," sayd the heir of Linne, 
" Nowe well-a-day, and woe is mee, 

For when I was the lord of Linne, 
I never wanted gold nor fee. 

" But many a trustye friend have I, 
And why shold I feel dole or care ? 

He borrow of them all by turnes, 
Soe need I not be never bare." 

But one, I wis, was not at home ; 

Another had payd his gold away ; 
Another call'd him thriftless loone, 

And bade him sharpely wend his way. 

" Now well-a-day," sayed the heir of Linne, 
" Now well-a-day, and woe is me ; 

For when I had my landes so broad, 
On me they lived right merrilee. 

" To beg my bread from door to door 
I wis, it were a brenning shame : 

To rob and steal it were a sinne : 
To work my limbs I cannot frame. 

" Now He be away to my lonesome lodge, 
For there my father bade me wend ; 

When all the world should frown on mee 
I there shold find a trusty friend." 



Part the Second. 

Away then hyed the heir of Linne 

O'er hill and holt, and moor and fenne, 

Until he came to lonesome lodge, 

That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne. 

He looked up, he looked downe, 

In hope some comfort for to winne : 

But bare and lothly were the walles. 

" Here's sorry cheare," quoth the heir of 
Linne. 

The little windowe dim and darke 

Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe ; 

No shimmering sunn here ever shone ; 
No halesome breeze here ever blew. 

No chair, ne table he mote spye, 

No cheerful hearth, ne welcome bed, 

Nought save a rope with renning noose, 
That dangling hung up o'er his head. 

And over it in broad letters, 

These words were written so plain to see : 
" Ah ! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all, 

And brought thyselfe to penurie ? 

" All this my boding mind misgave, 
I therefore left this trusty friend : 

Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace, 
And all thy shame and sorrows end." 

Sorely shent wi' this rebuke, 

Sorely shent was the heir of Linne ; 

His heart, I wis, was near to barst 

With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne. 

Never a word spake the heir of Linne, 
Never a word he spake but three • 

" This is a trusty friend indeed, 
And is right welcome unto mee." 

Then round his necke the corde he drewe, 
And sprang aloft with his bodie : 

When lo ! the ceiling burst in twaine, 
And to the ground came tumbling hee. 

Astonyed lay the heir of Linne, 
Ne knewe if he were live or dead : 

At length he looked, and sawe a bille, 
And in it a key of gold so redd. 




^rv-xr^ 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



He took the bill, and lookt it on, 
Strait good comfort found he there: 

Itt told him of a hole in the wall, 

In which there stood three chests in-fere.* 

Two were full of the beaten golde, 
The third was full of white money ; 

And over them in broad letters 

These words were written so plaine to see : 

** Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere ; 

Amend thy life and follies past; 
For but thou amend thee of thy life, 

That rope must be thy end at last." 

" And let it bee," sayd the heir of Linne ; 

" And let it bee, but if I amend :f 
For here I will make mine avow, 

This reade | shall guide me to the end." 

Away then went with a merry cheare, 
Away then went the heir of Linne ; 

I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne, 

Till John o' the Scales house he did winne. 

And when be came to John o' the Scales, 
Upp at the speere§ then looked hee ; 

There sat three lords upon a rowe, 
"Were drinking of the wine so free. 

And John himself sate at the board -head, 
Because now lord of Linne was hee. 

" I pray thee," he said, " good John o' the 
Scales, 
" One forty pence for to lend mee." 

" Away, away, thou thriftless loone ; 

Away, away, this may not bee : 
For Christ's curse on my head," he sayd, 

** If ever I trust thee one pennie." 

Then bespake the heir of Linne, 

To John o' the Scales wife then spake he : 
" Madame, some almes on me bestowe, 

I pray for sweet saint Charitie." 



* In-fere, i. e. together. 

f i e. unless I amend. ± i. e. advice, counsel. 

§ Perhaps the hole in the door or window, by 
which it was speered, i. e. sparred, fastened, or 
shut.— In Bale's 2d Part of the Acts of Eng. 
Votaries, we have this phrase, (fol. 38.) " The 
dore therofoft tymes opened and speared agayne." 
Percy. • 




" Away, away, thou thriftless loone, 
I swear thou gettest no almes of mee ; 

For if we sbold hang any losel heere, 
The first we wold begin with thee." 

Then bespake a good fellowe, 

Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord ; 
Sayd, " Turn againe, thou heir of Linne ; 

Some time thou wast a well good lord : 

"Some time a good fellow thou hast been, 

And sparedst not thy gold and fee ; 
Therefore He lend thee forty pence, 

And other forty if need bee. 

" And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales, 

To let him sit in thy com pan ie . 
For well I wot thou hadst his land, 

And a good bargain it was to thee." 

Up then spake him John o' the Scales, 

All wood he answer'd him againe : 
" Now Christ's curse on my head," he sayd, 

" But I did lose by that bargaine. 

" And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne, 

Before these lords so faire and free, 
Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape, 

By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee. - ' 

" I drawe you to record, lords," he said, 
With that he cast him a Ood's-pennie : 

" Now by my fay," said the heir of Linne, 
" And here good John is thy monie." 

And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold, 
And layd them down upon the bord : 

All woe begone was John o' the Scales, 
Soe shent he cold say never a word. 

He told him forth the good red gold, 

He told it forth with mickle dinne. 
" The gold is thine, the land is mine, 

And now Ime againe the lord of Linne." 

Sayes, " Have thou here, thou good fellowe, \&L* 

Forty pence thou didst lend mee : 
Now I am againe the lord of Linne, 

And forty pounds I will give thee. 

" He make thee keeper of my forest, 

Both of the wild deere and the tame ; 
For but I reward thy bounteous heart, 

I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame." 





'* Now well-a-day !" sayth Joan o' the Scales : ^ 
" Now well-a-day ! and woe is my life ! 

Yesterday I was lady of Linne, 

Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife." 

" Now fare-thee-well," sayd the heir of Linne ; 

"Farewell now, John o' the Scales," said 
hee: 
" Christ's curse light on me, if ever again 

I bring my lands in jeopardy." 



[Modern Ballad.— Mrs Johnstone.— From 
■'.'. the novel of " Clan Albyn."] 

I'm weary o' your ha's, auld lord, 

I m weary o' your towers, 
The hours of grandeur unendear'd, 

O but they're lanely hours. 

My fingers shine wi' mony a ring, 
An' wi' jewels they deck my hair ; 

But the lichtsome glance o' leal young love 
Will never bliss me mair. 

I mind thee still thou Athol wood, 

And him on Lynedoch lea ; 
Wha pu'd my snood frae the scented birk, 

An' my beads frae the reddan tree. 

merrily sang the bonnie blackbird 
Aboon our hazel screen ; 

An' ilka leaf was stirr'd wi' joy, 
An' the blue lift danc'd between. 

1 mind thee still, thou fairy eve, 
Whan this flichterin' heart was tint, 

An' how saft the sang o' the mavis rang, 
Whan he tauld what its flichterin' meant. 



A witless bride ye bocht, auld lord, 

An' he didna frown or fret ; 
But a breakin' heart was in his e'e, 

An' that looks before me yet ! 

I'm lanely, lanely a' the day, 
But the nicht is waur to bide, 

For the dream that brings me Athol brae, 
Wauks me by my auld lord's side i 




! there's mony a leaf in Athol wo. d, 
An' mony a bird in its breast ; 

An' mony a pain, maun the heart sustain, 
Ere it sab itsel' to rest ! 



®J)e ita J$tatg£$ ? 39itt)Qf»£« 

[Written by Robert Allan of Kilbarchan, 
in Renfrewshire, the author of a number of lyri- 
cal pieces. In 1841, Robert Allan was induced 
to emigrate to America, but was not many days 
landed at New York, when he was carried off 
by a bilious fever, at the age of 67.] 

Sit down, sit down by thy martyr's side, 

And I'se sit down by mine ; 
And 1 shall speak o' him to my Gude, 

And thou, may speak o' thine. 

It's wae to thee, and it's wae wi' me, 

For our day o' peace is gane, 
And we maun sit wi' a tearfu' e'e, 

In our bouroch-ha' alane. 

O Scotland ! Scotland, it's wae to thee, 
When thy lichts are ta'en awa' ; 

And it's wae, it's wae to a sinfu' Ian', 
When the richteous sae maun fa'. 

It was a halie covenant aith 

We made wi' our Gude to keep ; 

And it's for the halie covenant vow, 
That we maun sit and weep. 

O wha will gang to yon hill-side, 

To sing the, psalm at e'en ? 
And wha will speak o' the luve o' our Gude ? 

For the cov'nant reft hath been. 

The gerse may grow on yon bonnie hill-tap, 
And the heather sweetly blume ; 

But there nae mair we sail sit at e'en, 
For our hearts are in the tomb. 

The hectic glow is upo' my cheek, 

And the lily hue on thine ; 
Thou sune will lie by thy martyr's side, 

And sune I sail sleep by mine. 



[This is a modern imitation of the ancient 
ballads by Sir Walter Scott. The author 
thus introduces it in the Minstrelsy of the Scot- 
tish Border. — In the reign of Charles I., when 
the moss-trooping practices were not entirely 
discontinued, the tower of Gilnockie, in the 
parish of Cannoby, was occupied by William 
Armstrong, called, for distinction sake, Christie's 
Will, a lineal descendant of the famous John 
Armstrong, of Gilnockie, executed by James V. 
The hereditary love of plunder had descended to 
this person with the family mansion; and, 
upon some marauding party, he was seized, and 
imprisoned in the tolbooth of Jedburgh. The 
earl of Traquair, lord high ti-easurer, happening 
to visit Jedburgh, and knowing Christie's Will, 
inquired the cause of his confinement. Will re- 
plied, he was imprisoned for stealing two tethers 
(halters;) but, upon being more closely interro- 
gated, acknowledged that there were two deli- 
cate colts at the end of them. The joke, such as 
it was, amused the earl, who exerted his interest, 
and succeeded in releasing Christie's Will from 
bondage. Some time afterwards, a law-suit, of 
importance to lord Traquair, was to be decided 
in the Court of Session; and there was every 
reason to believe that the judgment would turn 
upon the voice of the presiding judge, who had a 
casting vote, in case of an equal division among 
his brethren. The opinion of the president was 
unfavourable to lord Traquair; and the point 
was, therefore, to keep him out of the way, when 
the question should be tried. In this dilemma, 
the earl had recourse to Christie's Will, who, at 
once, offered his service to kidnap the president. 
Upon due scrutiny, he found it was the judge's 
practice frequently to take the air, on horseback, 
on the sands of Leith, without an attendant. In 
one of these excursions, Christie's Will, who had 
long watched his opportunity, ventured to accost 
the president, and engaged him in conversation. 
His address and language were so amusing, that 
he decoyed the president into an unfrequented 
and furze common, called the Frigate Whins, 
where, riding suddenly up to him, he pulled him 
from his horse, muffled him in a large cloak, 
which he had provided, and rode off, with the 
luckless judge trussed up behind him. Will 



^ paths only known to persons of his description, 
and deposited his weary and terrified burden in 
an old castle, in Annandale, called the tower of 
Graham. The judge's horse being found, it was 
concluded he had thrown his rider into the sea ; 
his friends went into mourning, and a successor 
was appointed to his office. Meanwhile, the 
poor president spent a heavy time in the vault of 
the castle. He was imprisoned and solitary ; re- 
ceiving his food through an aperture in the wall, 
and never hearing the sound of a human voice, 
save when a shepherd called his dog, by the 
name of Batty, and when a female domestic 
called upon Maudge, the cat. These, he con- 
cluded, were invocations of spirits ; for he held 
himself to be in the dungeon of a sorcerer. At 
length, after three months had elapsed, the law- 
suit was decided in favour of lord Traquair; 
and Will was directed to set the president at 
liberty. Accordingly, he entered the vault, at 
dead of night, seized the president, muffled him 
once more in the cloak, without speaking a 
single word, and, using the same mode of trans- 
portation, conveyed him to Leith sands, and set 
down the astonished judge on the very spot 
where he had taken him up. The joy of his 
friends, and the less agreeable surprise of his suc- 
cessor, may be easily conceived, when he appear- 
ed in court, to reclaim his office and honours. 
All embraced his own persuasion, that he had 
been spirited away by witchcraft ; nor could he 
himself be convinced to the contrary, until, many 
years afterwards, happening to travel in Annan- 
dale, his ears were saluted, once more, with the 
sounds of Maudge and Batty — the only notes 
which had solaced his long confinement. This 
led to a discovery of the whole story ; but, in 
these disorderly times, it was only laughed at, as 
a fair ruse de guerre. 

Wild and strange as this tradition may seem, 
there is little doubt of its foundation in fact. 
The judge, upon whose person this extraordi- 
nary stratagem was practised, was Sir Alexan- 
der Gibson, lord Durie, collector of the reports, 
well known in the Scottish law, under the title 
of " Durie's Decisions." He was advanced to 
the station of an ordinary lord of session, 10th 
July 1621, and died, at his own house of Durie, 
July 1646. Betwixt these periods this whimsical 
adventure must have happened ; a date which 
corresponds with that of the tradition. 

" We may frame," says Forbes, " a rational 
conjecture of his great learning and parts, not 



ucsl 



crossed the country with great expedition, by as only from his collection of the decisions of ths 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



/ftp 



v 



session, from July 1621, till July 1642, but also 
from the following circumstance : 1. In a tract 
of more than twenty years, he was frequently 
chosen vice-president, and no other lord in that 
time. 2. 'Tis commonly reported, that some 
party, in a considerable action before the session, 
finding that the lord Durie could not be persuad- 
ed to think his plea good, fell upon a stratagem 
to prevent the influence and weight which his 
lordship might have to his prejudice, by causing 
some strong masked men kidnap him, in the 
links of Leith, at his diversion on a Saturday 
afternoon, and transport him to some blind and 
obscure room in the country, where he was de- 
tained captive, without the benefit of day -light; 
a matter of three months (though otherwise 
civilly and well entertained;) during which 
time his lady and children went in mourning for 
him, as dead. But after the cause aforesaid was 
decided, the lord Burie was carried back by in- 
cognitos, and dropt in the same place where he 
had been taken up." — Forbes's Journal of the 
Session, Edin. 1714, preface, page 28. 

Tradition ascribes to Christie's Will another 
memorable feat, which seems worthy of being 
recorded. It is well known, that, during the 
troubles of Charles I., the earl of Traquair con- 
tinued unalterably fixed in his attachment to his 
unfortunate master, in whose service he hazard- 
ed his person, and impoverished his estate. It 
was of consequence, it is said, to the king's ser- 
vice, that a certain packet, containing papers of 
importance, should be transmitted to him from 
Scotland. But the task was a difficult one, as 
the parliamentary leaders used their utmost en- 
deavours to prevent any communication betwixt 
the king and his Scottish friends. Traquair, in 
this strait, again had recourse to the services of 
Christie's Will ; who undertook the commission, 
conveyed the papers safely to his majesty, and 
received an answer, to be delivered to lord Tra- 
quair. But, in the meantime, his embassy had 
taken air, and Cromwell had despatched orders 
to intercept him at Carlisle. Christie's Will, 
unconscious of his danger, halted in the town to 
refresh his horse, and then pursue his journey. 
But, as soon as he began to pass the long, high, 
and narrow bridge, which crosses the Eden at 
Carlisle, either end of the pass wa3 occupied by a 
party of parliamentary soldiers, who were lying 
in wait for him. The borderer disdained to re- 
sign his enterprise, even in these desperate cir- 
cumstances ; and at once forming his resolution, 
spurred his horse over the parapet. The river 



M was in high flood. Will sunk— the soldiers 
shouted — he emerged again, and guiding his 
horse to a steep bank, called the Stanners, or 
Stanhouse, endeavoured to land, but ineffec- 
tually, owing to his heavy horseman's cloak, 
now drenched in water. Will cut the loop, and 
the horse, feeling himself disembarrassed, made 
a desperate exertion, and succeeded in gaining 
the bank. Our hero set off, at full speed, pur- 
sued by the troopers, who had for a time stood 
motionless and in astonishment at his temerity. 
Will, however, was well mounted ; and, having 
got the start, he kept it, menacing, with his 
pistols, any pursuer who seemed likely to gain on 
him — an artifice which succeeded, although the 
arms were wet and useless. He was chased to 
the river Eske, which he swam without hesita- 
tion ; and, finding himself on Scottish ground, 
and in the neighbourhood of his friends, he 
turned on the northern bank, and, in the true 
spirit of a border rider, invited his followers to 
come through, and drink with him. After this 
taunt, he proceeded on his journey, and faith- 
fully accomplished his mission. Such were the 
exploits of the very last border freebooter of any 
note. 

The reader is not to regard the ballad as of 
genuine and unmixed antiquity, though some 
stanzas are current upon the border, in a cor- 
rupted state. . They have been eked and joined 
together, in the rude and ludicrous manner of 
the original ; but as it is to be considered as a 
modern ballad, it is transferred to this depart- 
ment of the work. — Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border, Vol. III.] 

Traquair has ridden up Chapelhope, 

And sae has he down by the Gray Mare's 
Tail;* 

He never stinted the light gallop, 
Until he speer'd for Christie's Will. 

Now Christie's Will peep'd frae the tower, 
And out at the shot-hole keeked he ; 

" And ever unlucky," quo' he, " is the hour, 
That the warden comes to speer for me!" 

" Good Christie's Will, now, have na fear ! 

Nae harm, good Will, shall hap to thee : 
I saved thy life at the Jeddart air, 

At the Jeddart air frae the justice tree. 



* Gray Mare's Tail— A. cataract above Moffat, 
so called. 



" Bethink how ye sware by the salt and the {' 
bread, 

By the lightning, the wind, and the rain, 
That if ever of Christie's Will I bad need, 

He would pay me my service again." 

" Gramercy, my lord," quoth Christie's Will, 
" Gramercy, my lord, for your grace to me '. 

When I turn my cheek, and claw my neck, 
I think of Traquair, and the Jeddart tree." 

And he has opened the fair tower yate, 
To Traquair and a' his companie; 

The spule o' the deer on the board he has set, 
The fattest that ran on the Hutton Lee. 

" Now wherefore sit ye sad, my lord ? 

And wherefore sit ye mournfullie ? 
And why eat ye not of the venison I shot, 

At the dead of night on Hutton Lee ?" 

" O weel may I stint of feast and sport, 

And in my mind be vexed sair ! 
A vote of the canker'd Session Court, 

Of land and living will make me bare. 

" But if auld Durie to heaven were flown, 
Or if auld Durie to hell were gane, 

Or ... if he could be but ten days stoun .... 
My bonnie braid lands would still be my 
ain." 

" O mony a time, my lord," he said, 

' ' I've stown the horse frae the sleeping loun ; 

But for you I'll steal a beast as braid, 

For I'll steal lord Durie frae Edinburgh 
town. 

" O mony a time, my lord," he said,, 

" Iv'e stown a kiss frae a sleeping wench ; 

But for you I'll do as kittle a deed, 

For I'll steal an auld lurdane aff the 
bench." 

And Christie's Will is to Edinburgh gane ; 

At the Borough Muir then entered he ; 
And as he pass'd the gallow-stane, 

He cross'd his brow, and he bent his knee. 

He lighted at lord Durie's door, 

And there he knocked most manfullie ; 

And up and spake lord Durie sae stour, 

" What tidings, thou stalward groom, to 



" The fairest lady in Teviotdale 

Has sent, maist reverent sir, for thee ; 

She pleas at the session for her land, a' haill, 
And fain she wad plead her cause to thee. 1 ' 

" But how can I to that lady ride, 

With saving of my dignitie ?" 
" O a curch and mantle ye may wear, 

And in my cloak ye shall muffled be." 

Wi' curch on head, and cloak ower face, 
He mounted the judge on a palfrey fyne ; 

He rode away, a right round pace, 

And Christie's Will held the bridle reyn. 

The Lothian Edge they were not o'er, 
When they heard bugles bauldly ring, 

And, hunting over Middleton Moor, 
They met, I ween, our noble king. 

When Willie look'd upon our king, 

I wot a frighted man was he ! 
But ever auld Durie was startled mair, 

For tyning of his dignitie. 

The king he cross'd himself, I wis, 
When as the pair came riding bye — 

" An uglier crone, and a sturdier lown, 
I think, were never seen with eye !" 

Willie has hied to the tower of Graeme, 

He took auld Durie on his back, 
He shot him down to the dungeon deep, 

Which garr'd his auld banes gi'e mony a f^ 
crack. 

For nineteen days, and nineteen nights, 
Of sun, or moon, or midnight stern, 

Auld Durie never saw a blink, 

The lodging was sae dark and dern. 

He thought the warlocks o' the rosy cress* 
Had fang'd him in their nets sae fast; 



£wjf 



* " As for the rencounter betwixt Mr Wil- 
liamson, schoolmaster at Cowper (who has 
wrote agrammar^) and the Eosicrucians, I never 
trusted it, till I heard it from his own son, 
that a stranger came to Cowper and called 
who is present minister of Kirkaldy. He tells," 
for him: after they had drank a little, and the 
reckoning came to be paid, he whistled for 
spirits; one, in the shape ol a boy, came and 



© 



(Of*) 



Or that the gypsies' giamour'd gang* 
Had lair'd his learning at the last. 

gave him gold in abundance; no servant was 
seen riding with him to the town, nor enter with 
him into the inn. He caused his spirits, against 
next day, bring him noble Greek wine, from the 
Pope's cellar, and tell the freshest news then at 
Borne ; then trysted Mr Williamson at London, 
who met the same man, in a coach, near to Lon- 
don bridge, and who called on him by his name ; 
he marvelled to see any know him there ; at last 
he found it was his Rosicrucian. He pointed to 
a tavern, and desired Mr Williamson to do him 
the favour to dine with him at that house; 
whether he came at twelve o'clock, and found 
him, and many others of good fashion there, and 
a most splendid and magnificent table, furnished 
with all the varieties of delicate meats, where 
they are all served by spirits. At dinner, they 
debated upon the excellency of being attended by 
spirits ; and, after dinner, they proposed to him 
to assume him into their society, and make him 
participant of their happy life ; but, among the 
other conditions and qualifications requisite, this 
was one, that they demanded his abstracting his 
spirit from all materiality, and renouncing his 
baptismal engagements. Being amazed at this 
proposal, he falls a praying; whereat they all 
disappear, and leave him alone. Then he began 
to forethink what would become of him, if he 
were left to pay that vast reckoning ; not having 
as much on him as would defray it. He calls the 
boy, and asks, what was become of these gentle- 
men, and what was to pay ? He answered, there 
was nothing to pay, for they had done it, and 
were gone about their affairs in the city." — 
Fountainhall's Decisions, Vol. I. p. 15. With 
great deference to the learned reporter, this 
story has all the appearance of a joke upon the 
poor schoolmaster, calculated at once to operate 
upon his credulity, and upon his fears of being 
left in pawn for the reckoning. — Scotl. 

* Besides the prophetic powers, ascribed to the 
gypsies in most European countries, the Scottish 
peasants believe them possessed of the power of 
throwing upon by-standers a spell, to fascinate 
their eyes, and cause them to see the thing that 

f\ is not. Thus, in the old ballad of Johnnie Faa, 
c . X^n the elopement of the countess of Cassillis, with a 

J-' gyP sev leader, is imputed to fascination : 

They cast their glamour ovver her. 
% Saxo Grammaticus mentions a particular sect of ■ 



1 



" Hey ! Batty, lad ! far yaud ! far yaud !"f 
These were the morning sounds heard he ; 

And ever "Alack!" auld Durie cried, 
" The deil is hounding his tykes on me !" 



Mathematicians, as he is pleased to call them, 
who "per summam ludificandorum oculorum 
peritiam, proprios alienosque vultus, variis re- 
rum imaginibus, adumbrare callebant; illicibus- 
que formis veros obscurare conspectus." Merlin, 
the son of Ambrose, was particularly skilled in 
this art, and displays it often in the old metrical 
romance of Arthour and Merlin. 

The jongleurs were also great professors of 
this mystery, which has in some degree de- | 
scended, with their name, on the modern jug- ' 
glers. But durst Breslaw, the Sieur Boaz, or 
Katterf=lto himself, have encountered, in a 
magical sleight, the tragetoures of father Chau- 
cer ? — See the Frankeleene's Tale in Chaucer. 

Our modern professors of the magic natural 
would likewise have been sorely put down by the 
Jogulours and Enchantours of the Grete Chan ; 
"for they maken to come in the air the sone 
and the mone, beseminge to every mannes sight ; 
and aftre, they maken the nyght so darke, that 
no man may se no thing; and aftre, they maken 
the day to come agen, fair and plesant, with 
bright sone to every mannes sight; and than, 
they bi-ingin in daunces of the fairest damyselles 
of the world, and richest arrayed; and after, 
they maken to comen in other damyselles, bring- 
ing coupes of gold, fulle of mylke of diverse 
bestes; and geven drinke tolordesand toladyes; 
and than they maken knyghtes to justen in 
armies fulle lustyly ; and they rennen togidre a { 
gret randoun, and they frusschen togidre full \ 
fiercely, and they broken ther speres so rudely, 
that the trenchounsfien in sprotis and pieces alle 
about the halle ; and than they make to come in 
hunting for the hert and for the boor, with 
houndes renning with open mouthe : and many 
other things they dow of her enchantements, 
that it is marveyle for to se." — Sir John Mande- 
ville's Travels, p. 285. I question much, also, if 
the most artful illuminatis of Germany could i 
have matched the prodigies exhibited by Pacolet ' 
and Adramain, recorded in L'Historie des Va- 
lentin et Orson, a Rouen, 1631. The receipt, to 
prevent the operation of these deceptions, was, 

f Far yaud— The signal made by a shepherd to 
his dog, when he is to drive away some sheep at 
a distance. From Yoden, to. An, Sax.— Scott, i 





The king has caused a bill be wrote, 
And he has set it on the Tron, — 

" He that will bring lord Durie back, 

Shall have five hundred marks and one." 

Traquair has written a private letter, 
And he has seal'd it wi' his seal, — 

" Ye may let the auld brock out o' the poke ; 
The land's my ain, and a's gane weel." 

O Will has mounted his bonnie black, 
And to the tower of Graeme did trudge, 

And once again, on his sturdy back, 
Has he hente up the weary judge. 

He brought him to the council stairs, 
And there full loudly shouted he, 

" Gi'e me my guerdon, my sovereign liege, 
And take ye back your auld Durie !" 



to use a sprig of four-leaved clover. I remember 
to have heard (certainly very long ago, for, at 
that time, I believed the legend,) that a gypsey 
exercised his glamour over a number of people at 
Haddington, to whom he exhibited a common 
dung -hill cock, trailing^ what appeared to the 
spectators, a massy oaken trunk. An old man 
passed with a cart of clover; he stopped, and 
picked out a four-leaved blade ; the eyes of the 
spectators were opened, and the oaken trunk 

i appeared to be a bulrush. — Scott. 

* Human nature shrinks from the brutal 
scenes produced by the belief in witchcraft. 
Under the idea, that the devil imprinted upon 
the body of his miserable vassals a mark, which 
was insensible to pain, persons were employed to 
run needles into the bodies of the old women 
who were suspected of witchcraft. In the dawn- 
ing of common sense upon this subject, a com- 
plaint was made before the Privy Council of 

i Scotland, 11th September, 1678, by Catherine 
Liddell, a poor woman, against the baron-bailie 
of Preston-Grange, and David Cowan (a pro- 
fessed pricker,) for having imprisoned, and most 
cruelly tortured her. They answered, 1st, She 
was searched by her own consent, et volenti non 
fit injuria ; 2d, The pricker had learned his trade 
from Kincaid, a famed pricker; 3d, He never 



The Master of "Weemyss has biggit a ship, 

To saile upon the sea ; 
And four-and-twenty bauld marineres, 

Doe beare him companie. 

They have hoistit sayle and left the land, 
They have saylit mylis three ; 

When up there lap the bonnie mermayd, 
All in the Norland sea. 



" O whare saile ye," quo' the bonnie mermayd, 

" Upon the saut sea faem ?" 
" It's Ave are bounde until Norroway, 

God send us skaithless hame !" 

" Oh Norroway is a. gay gay strande, 

And a merrie land I trowe ; 
But nevir nane sail see Norroway 

Gin the mermaid keeps her vowe !" 

Down doukit then, the mermayden, 

Deep intil the middil sea ; 
And merrie leuch that master bauld, 

With his jollie companie. 

They saylit aw?.', and they saylit awa', 

They have saylit leagues ten ; 
When lo ! uplap by the gude ship's side 

The self-same mermayden. 



acted, but when called upon by magistrates or 
clergymen, so what he did was auctore pratore; 
4th, His trade was lawful ; 5th, Perkins, Delrio, 
and all divines and lawyers, who treat of witch- 
craft, assert the existence of the marks, or stig- 
mata sagarum ; and, 6thly, Were it otherwise, 
Error communis facit jus. — Answered, 1st, De- 
nies consent; 2d, Nobody can validly consent to 
their own torture ; for, Nemo est dominus mem- 
brorum suorum ; 3d, The pricker was a common 
cheat. The last arguments prevailed ; and it was 
found, that inferior "judges might not use any 
torture, by pricking, or by withholding them from 
sleep;" the council reserving all that to them - 
j selves, the justices, and those acting by commis- 
| sion from them. But lord Durie, a lord of ses- 
sion, could have no share in such inflictions, 
aft Scott. 













ghee held a glass intil her richt hande, 

In the uthir shee held a kame, 
And shee kembit her haire, and aye she sang 

As shee flotterit on the faem. 

And shee gliskit round and round about, 

Upon the waters wan ; 
nevir againe on land or sea 

Shall be seen sik a faire woman. 



gf"\ And shee shed her haire off her milk-white bree 
Wi' her fingers sae sma' and lang ; 
And fast as saylit that gude ship on, 
Sae louder was aye her sang. 

And aye shee sang, and aye shee sang 

As shee rade upon the sea ; 
" If ye bee men of Christian moulde 

Thro we the master out to mee. 

" Thro we out to mee the master bauld 

If ye bee Christian men ; 
But an ye faile, though fast ye sayle 

Ye'll nevir see land agen ! 

" Sayle on, sayle on, sayle on," said shee, 
" Sayle on and nevir blinne, 
"j The winde at will your say lis may fill, 
But the land ye shall never win!" 

(£$\ 

Its never word spak' that master bauld, 
But a loud laugh leuch the crewe ; 
y And in the deep then the mermayden 
Boun drappit frae their viewe. 

But ilk ane kythit her bonnie face, 
vfO\ How dark dark grew its lire ; 

And ilk ane saw her bricht bricht eyne 
Leming like coals o' fire. 

?\ And ilk ane saw her lang bricht hair 
Gae flashing through the tide, 
And the sparkles o' the glass shee brake 
Upon that gude ship's side. 

:e Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld, 
The wind blaws unco hie;" 
y " O there's not a sterne in a* the lift 
To guide us through the sea !" 

f*J^ " Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld, 
=§_;/ The storm is coming fast;" 
\jjp!= " Then up, then up my bonnie boy 
Unto the topmost mast. 



" Creep up into the tallest mast, 

Gae up my ae best man ; 
Climb up until the tall top-mast 

And spy gin ye see land." 

" Oh all is mirk towards the eist, 

And all is mirk be west ; 
Alas there is not a spot of light 

Where any eye can rest !" 

" Looke oute, looke oute my bauldest man, 

Looke oute unto the storme, 
And if ye cannot get sicht o' land, 

Bo you see the dawin o' morn ?" 

" Oh alace, alace my master deare," 

Spak' then that ae best man ; 
" Nor licht, nor land, nor living thing, 

Bo I spy on any hand." 

" Looke yet agen, my ae best man, 

And tell me what ye do see :" 
" O Lord ! I spy the false mermayden 

Fast say ling out owre the sea !" 

" How can ye spy the fause mermayden 

Fast sayling on the mirk sea, 
For there's neither mune nor mornin' licht — 

In troth it can nevir bee." 

" O there is neither mune nor mornin' licht, 

Nor ae star's blink on the sea; 
But as I am a Christian man, 

That witch woman I see ! 

" Good Lord i there is a scaud o' fire 

Fast coming out owre the sea ; 
And fast therein the grim mermayden 

Is sayling on to thee ! 

" Shee hailes our ship wi' a shrill shrill cry — 
Shee is coming, alace, more near:" 

" Ah woe is me now," said the master bauld, 
" For I both do see and hear ! 

'* Come doun, come doun my ae best man, 

For an ill weird I maun drre ; 
Yet, I reck not for my sinful self, 

But thou my trew companie!" 




$lHinmaifeira of @I|^i 



[From the Edinburgh Magazine for May, 1820. 
" The Carlin-stane is a huge rock standing in the 
middle of the river Clyde, about half a mile 
/ below the Stonebyres-lin. It has ever been re- 
puted a favourite haunt of mermen and mer- 
maids. The Gaun Weel is a deep whirlpool at 
a little distance from the Carlin-stane, concern- 
ing which many strange stories are told. In 
former times it was the chosen howf of a most 
malevolent water kelpie, who dragged many a 
youth to the bottom when bathing, till at length 
a sturdy peasant called Aiken Kent, from a 
huge oaken club which he always carried, re- 
solved to encounter this dreadful fiend. He 
went one summer evening to the Clyde, tirlit aff 
his claes, as the country narrators express it, 
grippit his aiken kent an' ploungit into the 
Weel. He swam round and round, dived to the 
bottom, but the kelpie, wha, it seems, was awar 
o' the character o' the douker, was nae whar to 
be seen. Fatigued at length, Aiken Kent cam' 
out o' the water, pat on himsel' an' sat doun to 
rest, when he fell soun' asleep. He was suddenly 
wakenit by something pu'-pu'an' at his kent, 
which he had laid aneth his head, an' liftan' 
his een saw through the gloamin' an austrous 
appearance clad in mist, with a grousome beard 
bristling about his mou', an' his twa een shinin' 
with a dowie streamerlike licht. Richtlie judg- 
ing this to be the kelpie, Aiken Kent bangit fell 
upon the puir fiend wi' his club in sic a fury, that 
he sunne garit him cry out, 

' O Aiken Kent ha'e dime, 

I'll never rnair come here, 
Ye may douk yoursel' baith late an' sirne, 
An' o' Kelpie ha'e nae fear.' 

Ever since the Gaun Weel, except that it is 
dangerous to inexperienced bathers from its 
depth and swirling, is as safe as any other pool 
in Clyde."] 

The marmaid sat on the Cai'lin-stane, 

A caiman her yellow hair, 
Was never maid in braid Clydesdale 

Was ever half sae fair. 

She caim't it up, an' she caim't it doun, 
An' she caim't it to her knee ; 

An' she snudit it roun' her harBts white, 
An' curl't it ower her eebree. 



An' the marmaid's goun was green as grass, 

In the cauld wall-ee that grows ; 
An' the croun on her brow was the sunny rain- 

Ower Stanebyres lin that glows. [bow, 

The marmaid sat on the Carlin-stane, 

Sae sweetly as she sang, 
While through aiken wud an' birken shaw 

The winsome echos rang. 

sweetly sings the mavis mild, 

An' the merl on the thorn ; 
Mare sweetly still the laverock sings, 

Abune the e'e o' morn. 

The lintie's blythe on the gowden whin, 

An', the gowdspink on the spray ; 
But blyther far was the marmaid's sang, 

Aichan frae bank to brae. 

" My father is lord o' bonnie Clyde, 

And o' craigie Avon's shaws, 
An' my mither is lady o' Nethan water, 

An' wons in Craignethan ha's. 

" And I clad mysel' in the cramesie, 

But an' the silken pall ; 
And I was serv'd by seven maidens, 

Whane'er I sat in hall. 

" The buck and doe, the hart and roe, 

We huntit ower the lea, 
An' the gows-hawks flew wi' the mornin' dew, 

Whill the day had closed his e'e, 

" O fleetly ran the coal-black steeds, 

Mare fleetly the steeds o' snaw ; 
But the dappl'd gray on whilk I rade, 

Had the heels afore them a'. 

" We huntit the stag o'er the Hawkshaw hills, 

And doun to the Carlin-stane, 
While sare forridden my merry menyie, 

Left me my livan' lane. 



" The bulleran' waves o' bludie Clyde, 

Swash't by wi' rowt and rair, 
An' the mune rase din through the mist o' the lin, 

Wi' cauld and eerie glare. 



W, 



wk 



m 






^ 



" Ower wud an' wauld, the rowkis cauld, 

Spread like a siller sea ; 
While a fairy inch seem't the lady's aik, 

Sae lanely still an' wee. 



" Auld Carnie castle ower the rowk, 
V W^nj Raise like a giant grim ; 

fc^f-S. An' the wilcat yowl't through its dowie vowts, 
Sae gowstie, howch, and dim. 

" The houlet hou't through the riftit rock, 
/jg^'e^ The tod yowl't on the hill ; 

Whan an eldritch whish souch't through the lift, 
And a' fell deadly still. 

■-"" \ " The trauchl't stag i' the wan waves lap, 
But huliness or hune, 
While in mony a row, wi' jaup an' jow, 
They shimmer t in the mune. 

" An' sare he focht, an' sare he swam, 
Whill he wan to the Carlin-stane; 

Whar he streek't himsel' i' the patients o' dead, 
Wi' mony a waesome main. 

~^=r " I spurr'd my steed to tak' the fiude, 
My steed he wadna steer, 
But stude an' swat frae head to hufe, 
We dredder an' wi' fear. 

" I flang the renyie on his neck, 
With a wiss that souldnae been, 

An' lap i' the pule frae my saddle-seat, 
Owercome wi' spite an' teen. 

" The water hadnae wat my fit, 

JSTor yet my siller shune ; 
Whill an inky clud fell doun on the wud, 

An' blotted out the mune. 

. " I saw nae mare, for a' the air 

Grew black as black could be ; 
J An' bonnie Clyde, with its hills an' howns, 

Was tint afore mine e'e. 

//T5*\ " I' the mirk in a stound, wi' rairan' sound, 
Ls»_ J A spait the river rase, 

An' wi' swash an' swow, the angry jow, 
Cam' lashan' doun the braes. 

"I luikit richt, I luikit left, 
But a' was black as nicht ; 
i I luikit to the heavens hee, 
But no ae spark o' licht. 

/pj\ " In a widdendreme, the thunder-leem 
|j* J Shot ower me blae as lead, 

An' shaw't the black waves coman' rowan 
Abreast, abune my head. [down, 



" I tirn't me richt, I tirn't me lef*. 

The craigs war in a low ; 
I tirn't me roun' the river doun, 

Saw nocht but an ugsome how. 

" A blent o' fire soup't athort the flucie, 

And ower the Carlin-stane ; 
In a suddentie, on the firie-fiaucht, 

The stately stag is gane. 

" A stately stag— i' the spait he sank, 

A stalwart wicht he rase ; 
He wav'd his han'— the lichtenins blan — 

An' blackness cur't the braes. 

" A' was dead-lown, whan in a stoun', 

A whirlwind fell frae the air, 
And hou't through the wuds, and cloven craijs, 

Wi' weary waesome rair. 

" The knarlie aiks of a hunder years 

Cam' doupan to the grun', 
While the brainches an' beuchs o' frusher trees 

War scatter'd on the win'. 

" ISTae lichtenin' gleam't out through the mirk, 
Nor was heard the thunder's rair, 

But a leadlike low spread ower the craigs 
Wi' dull and dowie glare. 

" The mirk cam' in gliffs— in gliffs the mirk gade, 
While I saw frae the craigs an' caves, 

Wi' mop an' mowr, an' glare an' glowr, 
Grim faces grin ower the waves. 

"I say't to flee, but couldnae steer 
Frae the stanners wharon 1 stude ; 

Whan the stalwart gome strade ower the spait 
An' clasp'd me in the nude. 

" Wi' sweep an' sweel, in the black Gaun Weel, 
We ploung't i' the wan^och wave; 

An' held our way, 'neth rock an' brae, 
Till we cam' till an ugsome cave. 

" A grousome droich at the benner en' 

Sat on a bink o' stane, 
And a dowie sheen frae his austrous een 

Ga'e licht to the dismal wane. 

" The dead blue licht skim't alang the black 
Whar draps hang raw on raw, [rufe. 

An' twinkl't in the damp broun air, 
Whan pinkan' thay can fa'. 







SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" The water-asks, sae cauld and saft, 

Crawl'd ower the glittie flure, 
Aud a monstrous eel, wi' twist and tweel, 

The gapan' entrance wure ; 

f\ " * An' tak' my bride, my bonnie bonnie bride,' 
To the dwerch the witch can say, 
' An' wash awa' the changefu' life 
That lives in upper day ; 

" ' And dip her first in the ZSTorroway sea, 

She's mine for evermare ; 
And dip her syne in the lammer-wine, 

Alike then sea and air; 

?y " ' And dip her last in Tinto dew 
That fell on Beltan-day, 
Whan a thousand years are come an' gane 
She'll be my bonnie May.' 

"Like clattie fins war the dwerch's tvvae 
arms — 

He laid them on my head, 
The licht forhou't my wauland een, 

My brow grew cauld as lead. 

"A seikenan' grou cam' ower my heart, 

I swarf't amang his hands, 
An' feelless lay, while the laidlie droich 

Perform'd his lord's commands. 

" I swarf't in the mirk wi' dule and pine; 

I cam' to mysel' i' the licht ; 
I swarf't in wae, a mortal may 

Cam' back a marmaid bricht. 

" I swarf't amid an ugsome den; 

Cam' back in a palace rare ; 
I swarf't by a fien', whan I rase be my side 

Stude a stalwart knicht an' fair. 

" ' And dinna fear my winsome dear, 

Fear naething now ava ; 
You're a marmaid fair, for evermair, 

Your mortal fife's awa'. 

" ' In luve an' lee — in game and glee — 

We'll ring ower bonnie Clyde, 
I'll aye to thee a bridegrume be, 
You aye to me a bride. 

' we'll bauld our court 'mid the roaring 
lins, 
And daff in the lashan' tide. 




" ' I big my halls o' the crystal clear, 
And the rufe o' the gowden mine ; 

The stateliest courts o' the richest roys 
Are nocht compar'd to mine. 

" ' The cowdlan' bells on the weelan' fiude 

Are the ships whilk we sail in, 
Alike scartfree on the pule are we, 

And in the swechan' fin. 

| " ' We beek oursells on the faimie heaps, 

j Whan simmer suns are breem, 

| Whan the year grown auld brings winter cauld 

j We flee till our ha's sae queem. 

1 " ' A hunder knichts at my behecht, 
! The waters maun obey, 
I An' twice twae hunder maries free 
| Sail serve my winsome may. 

" ' There's no ae burn in braid Clydesdale 
! But wimples at my will, 
I Nor a scridden broun that but my leave 
Comes tumbling doun the hill. 

" ' Whan comes the landlash wi' rair an' swash, 

I cowd on the rowan' spait, 
And airt its way by bank an' brae 

Fulfillan' my luve or hate. 

" ' The thochtless wicht wha scorns our micht, 

I visit in that hour, 
But the man I save frae the raging grave, 

Wha fears the marmen's power !' " 



%m"k Kofntftont tjue SftnMet* 



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[Modern Ballad. — James Hogg.] 

" Oh, came ye ower by the Yoke-burn Ford, 
Or down the King's Boad of the cleuch ? 

Or saw ye a knight and a lady bright, 

Wha ha'e gane the gate they baith shall 
rue?" 



"I saw a knight and a lady bright, 

Bide up the cleuch at the break of day ; 

The knight upon a coal-black steed, 

And the dame on one of the silver gray. 



*JG»- 




ISA " And the lady's palfrey flew the first, 
With many a clang of silver bell : 
Swift as the raven's morning flight, 
The two went scouring ower the fell. 

J " By this time they are man and wife, 
And standing in St Mary's fane ; 
And the lady in the grass-green silk 
A maid you will never see again." 



" But I can tell thee, saucy wight, — 
And that the runaways shall prove, — 

Revenge to a Douglas is as sweet 

As maiden charms or maiden's love." 



CS 



S$, 



" Since thou say'st that, my Lord Douglas, 
G-ood faith some clinking there will be; 

Beshrew my heart, but and my sword, 
If I winna turn and ride with thee \" 

They whipp'd out ower the Shepherd Cleuch, 
And doun the links o' the Corsecleuch Burn 

And aye the Douglas swore by his sword 
To win his love or ne'er return. 

" First fight your rival, Lord Douglas, 
And then brag after, if you may ; 

For the earl of Ross is as brave a lord 
As ever gave good weapon sway. 

" But I for ae poor siller merk, 

Or thirteen pennies an' a bawbee, 

Will tak' in hand to fight you baith, 
Or beat the winner, whiehe'er it be." 



The Douglas turn'd him on his steed, 
And I wat a loud laughter leuch he : — 

" Of a' the fools I have ever met, 

Man, I ha'e never met ane like thee. 

" Art thou akin to lord or knight, 
Or courtly squire or warrior leal ?" 

" 1 am a tinkler," quo' the wight, 

" But I like crown-cracking unco weel." 

When they came to St Mary's kirk, 
The chaplin shook for very fear ; 

And aye he kiss'd the cross, and said, 

" What deevil has sent that Douglas here ! 

" He neither values book nor ban, 

But curses all without demur; 
And cares nae mair for a holy man, 

Than I do for a worthless cur." 



' Come here, thou bland and brittle priest, 

And tell to me without delay, 
Where you have hid the lord of Ross, 

And the lady that came at the break of day ? 

" No knight or lady, good Lord Douglas, 

Have I beheld since break of morn ; 
And I never saw the lord of Ross, 

Since the wceful day that I was born." 

Lord Douglas turn'd him round about, 

And look'd the Tinkler in the face ; 
Where he beheld a lurking smile, 

And a deevil of a dour grimace. 

" How's this, how's this, thou Tinkler loun ? N 

Hast thou presumed to lie on me ?" 
" Faith that I have !" the Tinkler said, 

" And a right good turn I have done to thee ; 

" For the lord of Ross, and thy own true love, 
The beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane, 

Rade west away, ere the break of day ; 

And you'll never see the dear maid again : 

" So I thought it best to bring you here, 
On a wrang scent, of my own accord; 

For had you met the Johnstone clan, 

They wad ha'e made minee-mtat of a lord." 

At this the Douglas was so wroth, 

He wist not what to say or do ; 
But he strak the Tinkler o'er the croun, 

Till the blood came dreeping ower his brow. 

" Beshrew my heart," quo' the Tinkler lad, 
" Thou bear'st thee most ungallantlye ! 

If these are the manners of a lord, [me." 

They are manners that winna gang down wi' 

" Hold up thy hand," the Douglas cried, / **""! 

" And keep thy distance, Tinkler loun !" vJfP 
" That will I not," the Tinkler said, [down !' 

"Though I and my mare should both go 

" I have armour on," cried the Lord Douglas, 
" Cuirass and helm, as you may see." 

" The deil me care !" quo' the Tinkler lad ; 
" I shall have a skelp at them and thee." 

" You are not horsed," quo' the Lord Douglas,f 
" And no remorse this weapon brooks." 

" Mine's aright good yaud," quo' the Tinkler lad, 
" And a great deal better nor she looks. 



" So stand to thy -weapons, thou haughty lord, -^ 
"What I have taken I needs must give ; 

Thou shalt never strike a tinkler again, 
For the langest day thou hast to live." 

Then to it they fell, both sharp and snell, 
Till the fire from both their weapons flew ; 

But the very first shock that they met with, 
The Douglas his rashness 'gan to rue. 

For though he had on a sark of mail, 
And a cuirass on his breast wore he, 

With a good steel bonnet on his head, 
Yet the blood ran trinkling to his knee. 

The Douglas sat upright and firm, 

Aye as together their horses ran ; 
But the Tinkler laid on like a very deil, — 

Siccan strokes were never laid on by man. 

" Hold up thy hand, thou Tinkler loun," 
Cried the poor priest, with whining din ; 

" If thou hurt the brave Lord James Douglas, 
A curse be on thee and all thy kin !" 

" I care no more for Lord James Douglas, 
Than Lord James Douglas cares for me ; 

But I want to let his proud heart know, 
That a Tinkler 's a man as well as he." 

So they fought on, and they fought on, 
Till good Lord Douglas' breath was gone. 

And the Tinkler bore him to the ground, 
With rush, with rattle, and with groan. 

" hon ! O hon !" cried the proud Douglas, 
" That I this day should have lived to see ! 

For sure my honour I have lost, 
And a leader again I can never be ! 

" But tell me of thy kith and kin, 

And where was bred thy weapon hand ? 

For thou art the wale of tinkler louns 
That ever was born in fair Scotland." 

" My name's Jock Johnstone," quo' the wight,— 
" I winna keep in my name frae thee ; 

And here, tak' thou thy sword again, 
And better friends we two shall be." 

But the Douglas swore a solemn oath, 
That was a debt he could never owe ; 

He would rather die at the back of the dike, 
Than owe his sword to a man so low. 




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" But if thou wilt ride under my banner, 
And bear my livery and my name, 

My right-hand warrior thou shalt be, 

And I'll knight thee on the field of fame.' 

" Woe worth thy wit, good lord Douglas, 
To think I'd change my trade for thine ; 

Far better and wiser would you be, 
To live as journeyman of mine, 

" To mend a kettle or a casque, 

Or clout a goodwife's yettlin' pan,— 

Upon my life, good Lord Douglas, 
You'd make a noble tinkler man ! 



" I would give you drammock twice a-day, 
And sunkets on a Sunday morn ; 

And you should be a rare adept 

In steel and copper, brass an d horn ! 

"I'll fight you every day you rise, 
Till you can act the hero's part ; 

Therefore, I pray you, think of this, 
And lay it seriously to heart." 

The Douglas writhed beneath the lash, 
Answering with an inward curse, — 

Like salmon wriggling on a spear, 

That makes his deadly wound the worse. 

But up there came two squires renown'd ; 

In search of Lord Douglas they came ; 
And when they saw their master down, 

Their spirits mounted in a flame. 

And they flew upon the Tinkler wight, 
Like perfect tigers on their prey ; 

But the Tinkler heaved his trusty sword, 
And made him ready for the fray. 

" Come one to one ye ctfward knaves, — 
Come hand to hand, and steed to steed, 

I would that ye were better men, 
For this is glorious work indeed !" 

Before ycu could have counted twelve, 
The Tinkler's wondrous chivalrye 

Had both the squires upon the sward, 
And their horses galloping o'er the lea. 

The Tinkler tied them neck and heel, 
And mony a biting jest gave he : 

" fie, for shame!" said the Tinkler lad, 
" Siccan fighters I did never see !" 



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m 





SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






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He slit one of their bridal reins, — 
O what disgrace the conquer'd feels, 

And he skelpit the squires with that good tawse, 
Till the blood ran off at baith their heels. 

The Douglas he was forced to laugh, 
Till down his cheek the salt tear ran : 

" I think the deevil be come here 
In the likeness of a tinkler man !" 

Then he has to Lord Douglas gone, 

And he raised him kindly by the hand, 

And he sat him on his gallant steed, 
And bore him away to Henderland : 

" Be not cast down, my Lord Douglas, 
Nor writhe beneath a broken bane, 

For the leach's art will mend the part, 
And your honour lost will spring again. 

" 'Tis true, Jock Johnstone is my name, 
I'm a right good tinkler as you see ; 

For I can crack a casque betimes, 
Or clout one, as my need may be. 

"■Jock Johnstone is my name, 'tis true, — 
But noble hearts are allied to me, 

For I am the Lord of Annandale, 

And a knight and earl as well as thee." 

Then Douglass strain'd the hero's hand, 
And took from it his sword again ; 

Since thou art the lord of Annandale, 

Thou hast eased my heart of meikle pain. 

" I might have known thy noble form, 
In that disguise thou'rt pleased to wear; 

All Scotland knows thy matchless arm, 
And England by experience dear. 

" We have been foes as well as friends, 
And jealous of each other's sway ; 

But little can I comprehend 

Thy motive for these pranks to-day?" 

" Sooth, my good lord, the truth to tell, 
'Twas I that stole your love away, 

And gave her to the lord of Ross 
An hour before the break of day : 

" For the lord of Ross is my brother, 

By all the laws of chivalrye ; 
And I brought with me a thousand men 

To guard him to my own countrye. 




" But I thought meet to stay behind, 
And try your lordship to waylay, 

Resolved to breed some noble sport, 
By leading you so far astray. 

" Judging it better some lives to spare, — 
Which fancy takes me now and then, — 

And settle our quarrel hand to hand, 
Than each with our ten thousand men. 

" God send you soon, my Lord Douglass, 
To Border foray sound and haill ! 

But never strike a tinkler again, 

If he be a Johnstone of Annandale." 



[This ballad is given in Mr Jamieson's collec- 
tion, where it is said to be taken from Mrs 
Brown of Falkland's recitation.] 

O bonnie Baby Livingstone 

Gaed out to view the hay ; 
And by it cam' him Glenlyon, 

Staw bonnie Baby away. 

And first he's ta'en her silken coat, 

And neist her satten gown; 
Syne row'd her in his tartan plaid, 

And happ'd her round and roun'. 

He's mounted her upon a steed, 

And roundly rade away ; 
And ne'er loot her look back again 

The lce-lang simmer day. 

He's carried her o'er yon hich hich hill, 

Intil a Highland glen, 
And there he met his brother John 

Wi ; twenty armed men. 

And there were cows, and there were ewes, 

And there were kids sae fair; 
But sad and wae was bonnie Baby; 

Her heart was fu' o' care. 



He's ta'en her in his anus twa, 
And kist her check and chin ; 

" I wad gi'e a' my flocks and herds 
Ae smile frae thee to win !" 




" A smile frae me ye'se never win ; 

I'll ne'er look kind on thee ; 
Ye've stown me awa' frae a' my kin', 

Frae a' that 's dear to me. 

" Dundee, kind sir, Dundee, kind sir, 

Tak' me to bonnie Dundee; 
For ye sail ne'er my favour win 

Till it ance mair I see." 

" Dundee, Baby! Dundee, Baby ! 

Dundee ye ne'er shall see ; 
But I will carry you to Glenlyon, 

Where you my bride shall be. 

" Or will ye stay at Achingour, 
And eat sweet milk and cheese ; 

Or gang wi' me to Glenlyon, 

And there we'll live at our ease ?" 

" I winna stay at Achingour ; 

I care neither for milk nor cheese ; 
Nor gang wi' thee to Glenlyon ; 

For there I'll ne'er find ease ?" 

Then out it spak' his brother John,— 

" If I were in your place, 
I'd send that lady hame again, 

For a' her bonnie face. 

" Commend me to the lass that 's kind, 
Though nae sae gently born ; 

And, gin her heart I couldna win, 
To take her hand I'd scorn." 

" haud your tongue, my brother John, 

Ye wisna what ye say ; 
For I ha'e lued that bonnie face 

This mony a year and day. 

" I've lued her lang, and lued her weel, 
But her love I ne'er could win;* 

And what I canna fairly gain, 
To steal I think nae sin." 



* This is said in the true spirit of a Highland 
'jf Cath-er, ''freebooter;" literally, soldier, or man 
of battle, and, considering the manners of the 
times, is much less discreditable to the name of 
q Glenlyon, than is another more notorious trans- 
1| action of a much later date ; I mean the mas- 
O sacre of Glenco. — Jamieson. 




Whan they cam' to Glenlyon castle, 

They lighted at the yett ; 
And out they cam', his three sisters, 

Their brother for to greet. 

And they have ta'en her, bonnie Baby, 
And led her o'er the green ; 

And ilka lady spak' a word, 
But bonnie Baby spak' nane. 

Then out it spak' her, bonnie Jane, 

The youngest o' the three : 
" lady, why look ye sae sad ? 

Come tell your grief to me.-' 

" O wharefore should I tell my grief, 

Since lax I canna find ? 
I'm far frae a' my kin and friends, 

And my love I left behind. 

" But had I paper, pen, and ink, 

Afore that it were day, 
I yet might get a letter wrate, 

And sent to Johnnie Hay. 

" And gin I had a bonnie boy, 

To help me in my need, 
That he might rin to bonnie Dundee, 

And come again wi' speed." 

And they ha'e gotten a bonnie boy, 

Their errand for to gang ; 
And bade him run to bonnie Dundee, 

And nae to tarry lang. 

The boy he ran o'er muir and dale 

As fast as he could flee ; 
And e'er the sun was twa hours hight, 

The boy was at Dundee. 

Whan Johnnie lookit the letter on, 

A hearty laugh leuch he ; 
But ere he read it till an end, 

The tear blinded his e'e. 

" wha is this, or what is that, 
Has stown my love frae me ? 

Although he were my ae brither, 
An ill dead sail he dee. 



" Gae, saddle to me the black," he s 
" Gae, saddle to me the brown ; 

Gae, saddle to me the swiftest steed, 
That ever rade frae the town." 






P) 






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He's call'd upon his merry men a', 

To follow him to the glen ; 
And he's vow'd he'd neither eat nor sleep 

Till he got his love again. 

He's mounted him on a milk-white steed, 

And fast he rade away ; 
And he's come to Glenlyon's yett, 

About the close o' day. 

As Baby at her window stood, 
And the west-wind saffc did blaw, 

She heard her Johnnie's well kent voice 
Aneath the castle wa'. 

" O Baby, haste, the window loup ; 

I'll kep you in my arm ; 
My merry men are at the yett 

To rescue you frae harm." 

She to the window fix'd her sheets, 

And slipped safely down ; 
And Johnnie catch'd her in his arms, 

Ne'er loot her touch the groun'. 

Glenlyon and his brother John 

Were birling in the ha', 
"When they heard Johnnie's bridle ring 

As fast he rade awa'. 

" Rise Jock ; gang out and meet the priest, 

I hear his bridle ring ; 
My Baby now shall be my wife, 

Before the laverock sing." 

" brither, this is nae the priest; 

I fear he'll come o'er late ; 
For armed men wi' shining brands 

Stand at the castle yett." 

" Haste, Donald, Duncan, Dugald, Hugh, 
Haste, tak' your sword and spear ; 

We'll gar these traytors rue the hour 
That e'er they ventured here." 

The Highlandmen drew their claymores, 

And ga'e a warlike shout ; 
But Johnnie's merry men kept the yett, 

Nae ane durst venture out. 

The lovers rade the lee-lang night, 

And safe got on their way ; 
And bonuie Baby Livingstone 

Has gotten Johnny Hay. 



" Awa' Glenlyon ! fy for shame ! 

Gae hide you in some den ; 
You've latten your bride be stov/n frae you, 

Tor a' your armed men." 



@3}e Ip^opjra d (flBU&ME liS 



lEmmsu 



[Ballad of the last century, attributed to 
William Julius Mickle, the translator of the 
Lusiad, and reputed author of the popular Hi 
Scotch song, " There 's nae luck about the )^Ss^ 
house."] 

O'er the hills of Cheviot beaming, 

Rose the silver dawn of May ; 
Hostile spears, and helmets gleaming, 

Swell'd along the mountains gray. 

Edwin's warlike hern resounded 

Through the winding dales below, 
And the echoing hills rebounded 

The defiance of the foe. 

O'er the downs, like torrents pouring, 

Edwin's horsemen rush'd along ; 
From the hills like tempests lowering, 

Slowly march'd stern Edgar's throng. 



Spear to spear was now portended, 
And the yew boughs half were drawn, 

When the female scream ascended, 
Shrilling o'er the crowded lawn. 

While her virgins round her weeping, 
Wav'd aloft their snowy hands, 

From the wood queen Emma shrieking, 
Ran between the dreadful bands. 

" Oh, my sons, what rage infernal 
Bids you grasp the unhallow'd spear ; 

Heaven detests the war fraternal ; 
Oh, the impious strife forbear ! 










" Ah, how mild and sweetly tender 

Flow'd your peaceful early days ! .. -^ 

Each was then of each defender, 

Each of each the pride and praise. 



x\ 



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mj 






' my first-born Edwin, soften, 
Nor invade thy brother's right ; 
O, my Edgar, think how often 
Edwin dar'd for thee the fight. 

" Edgar, shall thy impious fury 
Dare thy guardian to the field ! 

0, my sons, let peace allure ye ; 
Thy stern claims, O Edwin, yield. 

" Hah, what sight of horror waving, 
Sullen Edgar, clouds thy rear! 

Bring'st thou Denmark's banners, braving 
Thy insulted brother's spear ? 

" Ah, bethink how through thy regions 
Midnight horror fearful howl'd ; 

When, like wolves, the Danish legions 
Through thy trembling forests prowl 'd. 

" When, unable of resistance, 

Denmark's lance thy bosom gor'd — 

And shall Edwin's brave assistance 
Be repaid with Denmark's sword ! 

" With that sword shalt thou assail him, 
From whose point he set thee free, 

While his warlike sinews fail him, 
Weak with loss of blood for thee ! 

" Oh, my Edwin, timely hearken, 
And thy stern resolves forbear ! 

Shall revenge thy councils darken, 
Oh, my Edgar, drop the spear ! 

" Wisdom tells, and justice offers, 
How each wound may yet be balm'd , 

0, revere these holy proffers, 

Let the storms of hell be calm'd. 

" Oh, my sons" — but all her sorrows 
Fir'd their impious rage the more : 

From the bow-strings sprung the arrows ; 
Soon the valleys reek'd with gore. 

Shrieking wild, with horror shivering, 
Fled the queen all stain'd with blood, 

In her purpled bosom quivering, 
Deep a feather'd arrow stood. 

Up the mountain she ascended, 
Fierce as mounts the flame in air ; 

And her hands, to heaven extended, 
Scatter'd her uprooted hair. 



"Ah, my sons, how impious, cover'd 
With each other's blood," she cried : 

While the eagles round her hover'd, 
And wild scream for scream replied — 

" From that blood around you streaming, 
Turn, my sons, your vengeful eyes ; 

See what horrors o'er you streaming, 
Muster round th' offended skies. 

" See what burning spears portended, 
Couch'd by fire-ey : d spectres glare, 

Circling round you both, suspended 
On the trembling threads of air ! 

" O'er you both heaven's lightning vollies, 
Wither'd is your strength ev'n now; 

Idly weeping o'er your follies, 

Soon your heads shall lowly bow. 

" Soon the Dane, the Scot, and Norman 
O'er your dales shall havoc pour, 

Every hold and city storming, 
Every herd and field devour. 

" Ha, what signal new arising 

Through the dreadful group prevails ! 

'Tis the hand of justice poising 
High aloft the eternal scales. 

" Loaded with thy base alliance, 
Eage and rancour all extreme, 

Faith and honour's foul defiance, 
Thine, Edgar, kicks the beam ! 

" Opening mild and blue, reversing 
O'er thy brother's wasted hills, 

See the murky clouds dispersing, 
And the fertile show'r distils. 

" But o'er thy devoted valleys 
Blacker spreads the angry sky ; 

Through the gloom pale lightning sallies, 
Distant thunders groan and die. 

" O'er thy proudest castles waving, 
Fed by hell and magic power, 

Denmark tow'rs on high her raven, 
Hatch'd in freedom's mortal hour. 

" ' Cursed be the day detested, 
Cursed be the fraud profound, 

When on Denmark's spear we rested,' 
Through thy streets shall loud resound 



\CxJJ 



m 



■ 

1 



u 




" To thy brother sad imploring, 
Now I see thee turn thine eyes — 

Hah, in settled darkness louring, 
Now no more the visions rise ! 

" But thy ranc'rous soul descending 
To thy sons from age to age, 

Province then from province rending, 
War on war shall bleed and rage. 

" This thy freedom proudly boasted, 
Hapless Edgar," loud she cried — 

With her wounds and woes exhausted, 
Down on earth she sunk and died. 



[From the Edinburgh Annual Eegister for 
1810.] 

On Eimside Moor a tempest-cloud 

Its dreary shadows cast 
At midnight, and the desert flat 

Re-echoed to the blast; 

When a poor child of guilt came there / 

With frantic step to range, 
For blood was sprinkled on the garb 

He dared not stay to change. 

" My God ! oh whither shall I turn ? 

The horsemen press behind, 
Their hollo' and their horses' tramp 

Come louder on the wind ; 

" But there 's a sight on yonder heath 

I dare not, cannot face, 
Though 'twere to save me from those hounds, 

And gain my spirit grace. 

" Why did I seek those hated haunts 

Long shunn'd so fearfully ; 
Was there not room on other hills 

To hide and shelter me ? 

" Here's blood on every stone I meet, 

Bones in each glen so dim, 
And comrade Gregory that's dead '.— 

But 1*11 not think of him. 



" I'll seek that hut where I was wont 

To dwell on a former day, 
Nor terrors vain, nor things long past, 

Shall scare me thence away. 

" That cavern from the law's pursuit 

Has saved me oft before, 
And fear constrains to visit haunts 

I hoped to see no more." 

Through well-known paths, though long un» 
The robber took his way, [trod, 

Until before his eyes the cave 
All dark and desert lay. 

There he, when safe beneath its roof, 

Began to think the crowd 
Had left pursuit, so wild the paths, 

The tempest was so loud. 

The bolts had still retain 'd their place, 

He barred the massy door, 
And laid him down and heard the blast 

Careering o'er the moor. 

Terror and guilt united strove 

To chase sweet sleep away ; 
But sleep with toil prevail'd at last, 

And seized him where he lay. 

A knock comes thundering to the door, 

The robber's heart leaps high — 
" Now open quick, remember'st not 

Thy comrade Gregory?" — 

" Whoe'er thou art, with smother'd voice 

Strive not to cheat mine ear, 
My comrade Gregory is dead, 

His bones are hanging near!" 

" Now ope thy door nor parley more, 

Be sure I'm Gregory ! 
An 'twere not for the gibbet rope, 

My voice were clear and free. 

c: The wind is high, the wind is loud, 

It bends the old elm tree ; 
The blast has toss d my bones about 

This night most wearily. 

" The elm was dropping on my hair, 

The shackles gall'd my feet; 
To hang in chains is a bitter lair, 

And oh a bed is sweet ! 



S3 




wz&M 






" For many a night I've borne my lot, 

Nor yet disturb'd thee here, 
Then sure a pillow thou wilt give 

Unto thy old compeer ?" 

" Tempt me no more," the robber cried, 

And struggled with his fear, 
Were this a night to ope my door, 

Thy taunt should cost thee dear." — 

" Ah, comrade, you did not disown, 

Nor bid me brave the cold, 
The door was open'd soon, when I 

Brought murder'd Mansell's gold. 

" When for a bribe you gave me up, 

To the cruel gallows tree, 
You made my bed with readiness, 

And stirr'd the fire for me. 

"But I have sworn to visit thee, 
Then cease to bid me go, 
And open — or thy bolts and bars 
Shall burst beneath my blow." 

Oh sick at heart grew Polydore, 

And wish'd the dawn of day; 
That voice had quell'd his haughtiness, 

He knew not what to say. 

For now the one that stood without 
An entrance craved once more, 

And when no answer was return'd, 
He struck — and burst the door. 

Some words he mutter'd o'er the latch, 

They were no words of good, 
And by the embers of the hearth, 

All in his shackles stood. 

A wreath of rusted iron bound 

His grim unhallowed head ; 
A daemon's spark was in his eye — 

Its mortal light was dead. 

" Why shrink'st thou thus, good comrade, 
With such a wilder'd gaze, [now, 

Dost fear my rusted shackles' clank, 
Dost fear my wither' d face ? 

i: But for the gallows rope, my face 

Had ne'er thus startled thee ; 
And the gallows rope, was't not the fruit 

Of thy foul treachery ? 



' But come thou forth, we'll visit now 
The elm of the wither'd rind ; 

For though thy door was barr'd to me, 
Yet I will be more kind. 

" That is my home, the ravens there 

Are all my company ; 
And they and I will both rejoice 

In such a guest as thee. 

" The wind is loud, but clasp my arm- 
Why, fool, dost thou delay ? 

You did not fear to clasp that arm 
When my life was sold away." 

The midnight blast sung wild and loud 
Round trembling Polydore, 

As by his dead companion led 
He struggled o'er the moor. 

Soon had they reach'd a wilderness 

By human foot unpress'd, 
The wind grew cold, the heather sigh'd, 

As conscious of their guest. 

Alone amid the dreary waste 

The wither'd elm reclined, 
Where a halter with a ready noose 

Hung dancing in the wind. 

Then turning round, his ghastly face 
Was twisted with a smile — 

" Now living things are far remote, 
We'll rest us here awhile. 

" Brothers we were, false Polydore, 

We robb'd in company ; 
Brothers in life, and we in death 

Shall also brothers be. 

" Behold the elm, behold the rope 
Which 1 prepared before — 

Art pale ? 'tis but a struggle, man, 
And soon that struggle 's o'er. 

'Tremble no more, but freely come, 
And like a brother be ; 
I'll hold the rope, and in my arms 
I'll help you up the tree." 

The eyes of Polydore grew dim, 

He roused himself to pray, 
But a heavy weight sat en his breast 

And took all voice away. 




The rope is tied— then from his lips 
I IPVj A cry of anguish broke — 

\^fj£ Too powerful for the bands of sleep, 
jQy And Polydore awoke. 

jg\ All vanish'd now the cursed elm, 
/^s-'rJ His dead companion gone, 

\^jh\ With troubled joy he found himself 

In darkness and alone. 

3=P\ But still the wind with hollow gusts 

K ) Fought ravening o'er the moor, 

y^r*^ And check'd his transports, while it shook 

The barricaded door. 



gy 






y %%t Ea|.g art §>n Page* 



s! 



fW 



[From the Scots Magazine for 1817.] 

It was a sweet and gentle hour, 
'Twas the night of a summer day, 

When a lady bright, on her palfrey white, 
Paced across the moorland grey. 

And oft she check'd her palfrey's rein, 

As if she heard footsteps behind, 
'Twas her heart of fear that deceived her ear, 

And she heard but the passing wind. _ 

There trips a page that lady beside, 

To guide the silken rein, 
And he holds up those, with duteous care, 

Her foot-cloth's sweeping train : 

And that page was a knight, who in menial 
plight, 
For love of that stately dame, 
Long ssrv'd at her board, though a high born 
lord, 
And a foe to her father's name. 

Across the haze there stream 'd a pale blaze, 
And the page's cheek blanch'd with fear — 

" Oh, see, lady, see ! at the foot of yon tree, 
The blue fire that burns sae clear I 

'Tis the prince of the night, 'tis the elfin sprite, 

With his ghostly revelry : 
Sweet lady, stand with this cross in thine hand, 

Or thou and I must die ! 






[Mj 



" For, as legends tell, an unseen spell 
Doth screen him from mortal wound ; 

Unless the steel be dipp'd in a well 
That holy wall doth bound." 

Sad was her heart when she saw her page part, 
And she fear'd she would see him no more; 

For, in secret, long her soul was wrung 
With a love that ne'er trembled before. 

" Oh, what is that sound seems to come from 
the ground, 

And now sweeps along on the air !" 
She dared not look, for with terror she shook, 

And she tremblingly murmur'd a prayer. 

And o'er the dun heath a balmy breath 

Stole like roses and violets sweet ; 
And the lavender blue, all dropping with dew, 

Strew'd the ground at the lady's feet. 

" Fair maiden come to our twilling home, 

Where we'll sport so merrily ; 
The glow-worm by night shall lend us a light, 

As we dance round the grey ash tree ; 

" Or, with unwet wings, we'll sport in the 
springs 

That roll far beneath the sea; 
Or to the bright moon we'll fly as soon, 

If my love thou wilt deign to be." 

Askance she gaz'd— and her eye she rais'd, 

A youth stood timidly nigh, 
And, of a truth, 'twas a lovely youth 

As ever met maiden's eye. 

His tresses brown, the same mantling down, 

Seem'd his snowy neck to veil; 
And with chrysolite eyes, his wings crimson 
dyes, 

Were stain'd like the peacock's tail. 



His eye was bright, as the northern streamer's 

light, V^M 

But his cheek was sad and pale 
And as the lines of care that were written there, 

A spirit might read and wail : 

But his sky-tinctur'd vest to his eye-lids was prest, •- J- "\^ 
And his heart seem'd bursting with woe, pO= i 

And the white, white rose, that wreath'd hi3 V^p- 1 
brows, / 

Seem'd pale, and paler to glow. 



m 



" I've watch'd thee late and early, 
I've watch'd thee night and day; 
' I've loved thee, lady, dearly, 

With love that can never decay : 

J " I've heard thy sleeping sigh, lady, 
HPp-s/ I've heard thy waking prayer; 

rtf k No mortal foot was nigh, lady, 
But I was weeping there. 

«*!P- ] " With an eye that no thought can deceive, 
lady, 
I've seen love sweetly stealing on thee ; 
I know that young bosom can heave, lady, 
j^\ And shall it not heave for me.- 1 " 

The lady stood — and hsr unchill'd blood 

Gave her lip its warmest hue ; 
But the cross to her breast was fervently 
press'd, 

And still her heart was true. 

" Yet rest thee here, oh, lady, dear, 
And my minstrel spirits gay, 
/: With harp and lute, and fairy flute, 

Shall play thee a roundelay." 

xsrj \ All was hush'd and still on the elfin hill, 
f*T~)C All was hush'd in the evening vale ; 

eisJr^K N°* a w hisper was heard, not a footstep stirr'd, 
Not an aspen-leaf shook in the gale. 

W%i Then soft and slow a note of woe 

. «fa Came far on the breathless air ; 

S^KJ 'Twas wild as the strain of a mermaid train 
(-JjHtN "When they're combing their yellow hair ; 

J 'Twas wild as the dirge that floats o'er the surge, 
\» (Pf) The mariner's lonely grave, 

~p) All— while mortals sleep, they sing and they 

weep, 
'J= J And they glide on the moonlight wave. 

^| Then it rose rich and high, like the chaunt of 
>«jy joy 

That breathes round the hermit bower; 
] When cherubim bright leave their mansions of 
light, 
To soothe his dying hour. 

f£^*) Oh, how the heart beat of the lady sweet, 
^^-J But her heart did not beat with fear ; 

|F(M The train so wild her senses had guil'd, 
"" s J And she loved, though she trembled to bear. 



103 yg^ 

$ But who is he that flies with his soul in his eyes, Ua^l 
Wide waving a faulchion of steel ? 
But the flush on her cheek, ere a word she could S^( 
A nursling babe might tell. [speak, 

'Twas an urchin sprite, in the guise of her L/3P 

'Twas a wile of the elfin king ; [knight, )< 

And the vision so quaint, in form and in teint, L^\; 
Her soul to her cheek did bring. 



' Hush'd, hush'd be your fear, for your true 
knight is near, 

With the brand that his patron saint gave, 
S T o elfin wight may dare its might, 

Tor 'tis dipp'd in St Angelo's wave : 






" And the cowl'd friar, and convent quire, 
Are waiting our nuptials to say ; 

Haste, lady, haste, for the night's fading fast, 
And the eastern cloud is grey. 



" But give me the cross that's hid in thy breast, 

And give me the rosary too ; 
And I'll lead thee o'er the perilous moor, 

On the faith of a knight so true." 

Oh, she gave up the cross that was laid in her 
breast, 
And she gave up the rosary too— 
As he grasp'd them, he frown'd, and he smote 
the ground, 
And out rush'd the elfin crew. 

And the goblin rout gave a maddening shout, 
And danc'd round them in many a wild ring, 

And the slender waist of that lady chaste 
Was clasp'd by the elfin king. 

All loose was her hair, and her bosom was bare, 
And his eye it glar'd fierce and bold, 

And her wan lip he press'd, and her shuddering 
breast, 
And he grasped her locks of gold. 

But instant a blow made the caitiff forego 

His grasp of that victim fair, 
And deadly he groan 'd, as he shrunk from the 
wound, 

And the phantom crew vanish'd in air. 



I've sav'd thee, my love ! by help from above, 
I've sav'd thee from mortal harms !" 
And no word she spoke, but she gave him a look, m 
And sunk in her true knight's arms. 



(<A5>\) 






is 










■ 






■ 



"0\ 
r3 



55 



Ert S^Jrt JEuifto, 



[From Buchan's Ancient Ballads. — " A frag- 
ment of this pathetic ballad," says Mr Buchan, 
will be found in the Edinburgh Collection of 
1776, Yol. I. p. 165 ; but it is deficient in narra- 
tive, and imperfect in the tragical detail of 
what it contains. For some real or imaginary 
cause, the hero of the ballad murders his lover's 
only brother, for which he intends leaving the 
place of his rendezvous, but is prevented by the 
lady, who promises to secrete him in a place of 
her own bower. She proved faithful to her pro- 
mise; for when nine armed men came in pursuit 
of him, she kept him secure ; and to keep up the 
deception, and prevent suspicion, she entertain- 
ed them all with bread and wine, — a proof that 
love is stronger than death. He having heard 
the men in converse with the lady, naturally 
supposed, from a guilty conscience, that they 
were his foes, and admitted into the house by the 
lady for his detection ; so that, when she entered 
his apartment in a friendly manner, to inform 
him of the departure of his enemies, he drew 
his sword and gave her a mortal wound, think- 
ing it was one of the men come to appre- 
hend and secure him. On the discovery of his 
fatal mistake, the lady advised him to fly for his 
life, but he declined it, thinking himself worthy 
of death for her sake.] 

Lord John stands in his stable door, 

Says he, I will gae ride ; 
His lady, in her bigly bower, 

Desired him to bide. 

" How can I bide, how can I bide ? 

How shall I bide wi' thee ? 
"When I ha'e kill'd your ae brother, 

You ha'e nae mair but he." 

" If ye ha'e kill'd my ae brother, 

Alas '. and wae is me ; 
If ye be well yoursel', my love, 

The less matter will it be ! 

" Ye '11 do you to yon bigly bower, 

And take a silent sleep , 
And I'll watch in my highest tower, 

Your fair body to keep." ^ 



She has shut her bigly bower, 

All wi' a silver pin ; 
And done her to the highest tower, 

To watch that nane come in. 

But as she looked round about, 

To see what she could see, 
There she saw nine armed knights 

Come riding o'er the lea. 

" God make you safe and free, lady, 

God make you safe and free ! 
Did you see a bludy knight 

Come riding o'er the lea?" 

" O, what like was his hawk, his hawk ? 

And what like was his hound ? 
If his steed has ridden well, 

He's pass'd fair Scotland's strand. 

" Come in, come in, gude gentlemen, 
And take white bread and wine ; 

And aye the better ye'll pursue, 
The lighter that ye dine." 

" "VVe thank you for your bread, lady, 

"We thank you for the wine ; 
And I would gi'e my lands sae broad, 

Your fair bcdy were mine." 

She has gane to her bigly bower, 

Her ain gude lord to meet ; 
A trusty brand he quickly drew, 

Ga'e her a wound sae deep. 

" What harm, my lord, provokes thine ire, 

To wreak itself on me, 
When thus I strove to save thy life, 

Yet served for sic a fee ?" 

" Ohon, alas ! my lady gay, 

To come so hastilie ; 
I thought it was my deadly foe, 

Ye had trysted into me. 

" O live, O live, my gay lady, 

The space o' ae half hour, 
And nae a leech in a' the land 

But I'se bring to your bower." 

" How can I live, how shall I live ? 

How can I live for thee ? 
Ye see my blude rins on the ground 

My heart's blude by your knee! 






^-zJ£y<u=m~^J< 



" take to flight, and flee, my love, 

O take to flight, and flee ! 
I woaldna wish your fair body 

For to get harm for me." 

" Ae foot I winna flee, lady, 

Ae foot I winna flee ; 
I've dune the crime worthy o' der.th, 

It's right that I should die. 

" deal ye well at my love's lyke, 
The beer, but an' the wine ; 

For, ere the morn, at this same time, 
Ye'll deal the same at mine. 



[From Buchan's Ballads.] 

As I gaed in yon greenwood side, 

I heard a fair maid singing ; 
Her voice was sweet, she sang sae complete, 

That all the woods were ringing. 

** 0, I'm the duke o' Athole's nurse, 

My post is well becoming ; 
But I would gi'e a' my half-year's fee, 

For ae sight o' my leman." 

" Ye say, ye're the duke o' Athole's nurse, 

Your post is well becoming; 
Keep well, keep well your half-year 1 s fee, 

Ye'se ha'e twa sights o' your leman.-' 

He lean'd him ower his saddle bow, 

And cannilie kiss'd his dearie; 
" Ohon, and alake ! anither has my heart, 

And I darena mair come near thee !" 

" Ohon, and alake ! if anither ha'e your heaTt, 
These words ha'e fairly undone me ; 

But let us set a time, tryst to meet again, 
Then in gude friends you will twine me. 

" Ye will do you down to yon tavern house, 
And drink till the day be dawing; 

And, as sure as I ance had a love for you, 
I'll come there and clear your la wing. 



" Ye'll spare not the wine, although it be fine, 

iSTae Malago, though it be rarely ; 
But ye'll aye drink the bonnie lassie's health 

That's to clear your lawing fairly." 

Then he's done him down to yon tavern house, 

And drank till day was dawing ; 
And aye he drank the bonnie lassie's health 

That was coming to clear his lawing. 



And aye as he birled, and aye as he drank, 

The gude beer and the brandy ; 
He spar'd not the wine, although it was fine, 

The sack nor the sugar candy. 

" It's a wonder to me," the knight he did say, 

" My bonnie lassie's sae delaying ; 
She promised, as sure as she loved me ance, 

She would be here by the dawing." 

He's done him to a shott window, 

A little before the dawing ; 
And there he spied her nine brothers bauld, 

Were coming to betray him. 

" Where shall I rin, where shall I gang, 

Or where shall I gang hide me ? 
She that was to meet me in friendship this day, 

Has sent nine men to slay me !" 

He's gane to the landlady o' the house, 

Says, " can you supply me ? 
For she that was to meet me in friendship this day, 

Has sent nine men to slay me !" 

She ga'e him a suit o' her ain female claise, 

And set him to the baking ; 
The bird never sang mair sweet on the bush, 

Nor the knight sung at the briking. 

As they came in at the ha' door, 

Sae loudly as they rappit ; 
And when they came upon the floor, 

Sae loudly as they chappit. 

" 0, had ye a stranger here last night, 

Who drank till the day was dawing ? 
Come, show us the chamber where he lyes in, (\c\~J 

We'll shortly clear his lawing." 

" I had nae stranger here last night, 

That drank till the day was dawing ; 
But ane that took a pint, and paid it e'er he went, 

And there's naething to clear o' his lawing." 







£ 







A lad amang the rest, being o' a merry mood, £fe 
To the young knight fell a-talking ; 

The wife took her foot, and ga'e bim a kick, 
Says, " Be busy, ye jilt, at your baking." 

They stabbed the house, baith but and ben, 
The curtains they spared nae riving ; 

And for a' that they did search and ca', 
For a kiss o' the knight they were striving. 



[From Jamieson's Collection, given on the 
: - authority of Mrs Brown of Falkland. — Mr 
| Jamieson says, " The ballad is very popular in 

Scotland; and an edition of it, differing mate- 
I rially from that here given, has appeared in the 

Edinburgh Collection, in two volumes."] 

I There was three ladies play'd at the ba', 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 
There came a knight, and play'd o'er them a', 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

The eldest was baith tall and fair, 
i With a heigh-ho '. and a lily gay ; 
But the youngest was beyond compare, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

The midmost had a gracefu' mien, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 
1 But the youngest look'd like beauty's queen, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

The knight bow'd low to a' the three, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

But to the youngest he bent his knee, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

The lady turned her head aside, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay; 

The knight he woo'd her to be his bride, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

The lady blush'd a rosy red, 

With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

And said, " Sir knight, I'm o'er young to 
wed, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 



" 0, lady fair, give me your hand, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay; 

And I'll mak" you lady of a' my land, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly.'' 

" Sir knight, ere you my favour win, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

Te maun get consent frae a' my kin', 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 

He has got consent frae her parents dear, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

And likewise frae her sisters fair, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

He has got consent frae her kin' each one, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

But forgot to spear at her brother John, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

Now, when the wedding-day was come, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

The knight would take his bonnie bride home, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

And many a lord and many a knight, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

Came to behold that lady bright, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

And there was nae man that did her see, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

But wished himself bridegroom to be, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

Her father dear led her down the stair, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

And her sisters twain they kiss'd her there, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

Her mother dear led her through the close, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

And her brother John set her on the horse, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

She lean'd her o'er the sad .lie-bow, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

To give him a kiss ere she did go, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

He has ta'en a knife, baith lang and sharp, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

And stabb d the bonnie bride to the heart 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






She hadna ridden half through the town, 

With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay, 
Until her heart's blood stained her gown, 

As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

" Eide saftly on," said the best young man, 
" With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

For I think our bonnie bride looks pale and wan, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 

" 0, lead me gently up yon hill, 
With a heigh -bo ! and a lily gay ; 

And I'll there sit clown, and make my will, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 

'- 0, what will you leave to your father dear, 
"With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" 

" The silver shod steed that brought me here, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 

" What will you leave to your mother dear, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" 

" My velvet pall and silken gear, 

As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 

" And what will you leave to your sister Ann, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" 

" My silken scarf and my golden fan, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 

" What will you leave to your sister Grace, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" 

" My bloody cloaths to wash and dress, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 

" What will ye leave to your brother John, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" 

" The gallows-tree to hang him on, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 

" What will ye leave to your brother John's wife, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" 

" The wilderness to end her life, 

As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 

This fair lady in her grave was laid, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 

And a mass was o'er her said, 

As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

But it would have made your heart right sair, 
With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay; 

To see the bridegroom rive his hair, 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 



I 



'£-;* Ssfoti rf©sji&k- 



V x^/ 

[This ballad is given in Herd's Collection, and /3w 
is founded on a circumstance which took place in j /^^J 
1592, and which is thus related by Spotswood. I 
"At the same time, John Weymis, younger of W-=|lP\ 
Bogie, gentleman of his majesty s chamber, and ^\Fs< 
in great favour both with the king and queen, | 
was discovered to have the like dealing with 
Bothwell; and, being committed to the keeping .^-^J 
of the guard, escaped by the policy of one of the 
Butch maids, with whom he entertained a secret 
love. The gentlewoman, named Mistress Mar- 
garet Twinslaee, coming one night, whilst the h 
king and queen were in bed, to his keepers, 5=^£r 
showed that the king called for the prisoner, to 
ask of him some question. The keepers, suspect- A^scs 
ing nothing, for they knew her to be the principal k2_\. 
maid in the chamber, conveighed him to the ^ -^ 
door of the bed-chamber ; and, making a stay *>gp_ 
without as they were commanded, the gentle- f 
woman did let him down at a window, by a cord 
that she had prepared. The keepers, waiting 
upon his return, stayed there till the morning, 
and then found themselves deceived. This, with 
the manner of the escape, ministered great occa- 
sion of laughter ; and, not many days after, the 
king being pacified by the queen's means, he was 
pardoned, and took to wife the gentlewoman 
who had, in this sort, hazarded her credit for 
his safety." — How the name of the hero Bogie 
happened to be changed to Ochiltrie, as in the 
present ballad, is not known.] 

listen gude people to my tale, 

Listen to what I tell to thee, 
The king has taiken a poor prisoner, 

The wanton laird of Ochiltrie. 

When news came to our guidly queen, 
She sicht, and said richt mournfullie, 

" O what will cum of lady Margaret, 
Wha bears sic luve to Ochiltrie ?" 









Lady Margaret tore hir yellow hair 
When as the queen told hir the saim : 

" I wis that I had neir been born, 

Nor neir had known Ochiltrie's name." 



" Fy na,' ; quo' the queen, " that maunna be, /w"S\ 

Fy na, that maunna be ; 
I'll find ye out a better way 

To saif the lyfe of Ochiltrie." 






m 



m 






m 



The queen she trippet up the stair, 
And lowly knielt upon her knie : 

" The first boon which I cum to craive 
Is the lyfe of gentel Ochiltrie." 

" if you had ask'd me castels and towirs, 
I wad ha'e gin them twa or thrie; 

But a* the monie in fair Scotland 
Winna buy the lyfe of Ochiltrie." 

The queen she trippet doun the stair, 
And down she gade richt roournfullie , 

" Its a' the monie in fair Scotland, 
Winna buy the lyfe of Ochiltrie." 

lady Margaret tore her yellow hair, 
When as the queen told hir the same ; 

"I'll tak' a knife and end my lyfe, 
And be in the grave as soon as him." 

" Ah ! na, fie ! na," quoth the queen, 
" Fie ! na, fie ! na, this maunna be ; 

I'll set ye yet on a better way 
To loose and set Ochiltrie frie." 

The queen she slippet up the stair, 
And she gade up richt privatlie, 

And she has stoun the prison-keys, 
And gane and set Ochiltrie frie. 

And she's gi'en him a purse of gowd, 

And another of white monie ; 
She's gi'en him twa pistols by's side, 

Saying to him, " Shute when ye win frie." 

And when he cam' to the queen's window, 
Whaten a joyfu' shute ga'e he ! 

" Peace be to our royal queen, 
And peace be in her companie." 

" O whaten a voice is that ?" quoth the king, 
" Whaten a voice is that?" quoth he, 

" Whaten a voice is that ?" quoth the king, 
" I think it's the voice of Ochiltrie. 

" Call to me a' my gaolours, 

Call them by thirtie and by thrie, 

Wharefor the morn at twelve o'clock 
It's hangit shall they ilkane be." 

" O didna ye send your keys to us ? 

Ye sent them by thirtie and by thrie : 
And wi' them sent a strait command, 

To set at large young Ochiltrie." 




"Ah! na, fie! na," quoth the queen, 
" Fie, my dear luve ! this maunna be ; 

And if ye're gawn to hang them a', 
Indeed ye maun begin wi' me." 

The tane was shippit at the pier of Leith, 
The ither at the Queensferie ; 

And now the lady has gotten hir luve, 
The winsom laird of Ochiltrie. 



THE LAIRD OF LOGIE. 

[From the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 
— '* An edition of this ballad," says Sir Walter, 
" is current, under the title of ' The Laird of, 
Ochiltrie;' but the editor has been fortunate 
enough to recover the following more correct and 
ancient copy, as recited by a gentleman residing 
near Biggar. It agrees more nearly, both in 
the name and in the circumstances, with the 
real fact, than the printed ballad of Ochiltrie. 
In the year 1592, Francis Stuart, earl of Both- 
well, was agitating his frantic and ill-concerted 
attempts against the person of James VI., 
whom he endeavoured to surprise in the palace 
of Falkland. Through the emulation and pri- 
vate rancour of the courtiers, he found adherents 
even about the king's person ; among whom, it 
seems, was the hero of our ballad, whose history 
is thus narrated in that curious and valuable 
chronicle, of which the first part has been pub- 
lished under the title of The Historie of King 
James the Sext. — ' In this close tyme it fortunit, 
that a gentleman, callit Weymis of Logye, being 
also in credence at court, was delatit asatraffek- 
ker with Frances erle Bothweil ; and he being 
examint before king and counsall, confessit his 
accusation to be of veritie, that sundrie tymes he 
had spokin with him, expresslieaganis the king's 
inhibitieun proclamit in the contrare, whilk 
confession he subscryvit with his hand ; and be- 
cause the event of this mater had sik a success, 
it sail also be praysit be my pen, as a worthie 
turne, proceiding from honest chest loove and 
charitie, whilk suld on na wayis be obscurit from 
the posteritie, for the gude example ; and there- 
fore I have thought gude to insert the same for 
a perpetual memorie. Queene Anne, our noble 
princess, was servit with dyverss gentilwemen 
^J of hir awin cuntrie, and naymelie with ane callit 





Mres Margaret Twynstoun,* to whome this 
gentilman, Weymes of Logye, bure great honest 
affection, tending to the godlie band of marriage, 
the whilk was honestlie requytet be the said gen- 
tilwoman, yea evin in his greatest mister ; for 
howsone she understude the said gentilman to be 
in distress, and apperantlie be his confession to 
be puneist to the death, and she having preve- 
lege to ly in the queynis chalmer that same 
verie night of his accusation, whare the king 
was also reposing that same night, she came 
furth of the dure prevelie, bayth the prencis 
being then at quyet rest, and past to the chal- 
mer, whare the said gentilman was put in custo- 
die to certayne of the garde, and commandit 
thayme that immediatelie he sould be broght to 
the king and queyne, whareunto thay geving 
sure credence, obeyit. But howsone she was 
cum bak to the chalmer dur, she desyrit the 
watches to stay till he sould cum furth agayne, 
and so she closit the dur, and convoyit the gen- 
tilman to a windo', whare she ministrat a long 
corde unto him to convoy himself doun upon ; 
and sa, be hir gude cheritable help, he happelie 
escapit be the subteltie of love.' "] 

I will sing, if ye will harken, 

If ye will harken unto me ; 
The king has ta'en a poor prisoner, 

The wanton laird o' young Logie. 

Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel ; 

Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;f 
And may Margaret's lamenting sair, 

A' for the love of young Logie. 

" Lament, lament na, may Margaret, 
And of your weeping let me be ; 

For ye maun to the king himsel', 
To seek the life of young Logie." 

May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding, 
And she has curl'd back her yellow hair — 

" If I canna get young Logie's life, 
Fareweel to Scotland for evermair." 



* Twynlace, according to Spottiswoode. 

f Sir John Carmichael of Carmichael, the 
hero of the ballad called the Raid of the Eeid- 
swire, Was appointed captain of the king's guard 
in 1588, and usually had the keeping of state 
criminals of rank. — Scott. 






109 

When she came before the king, 

She knelit lowly on her knee— 
" O what's the matter, may Margaret 

And what needs a' this courtesie ?" 

"A boon, a boon, my noble liege, 

A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee i 
And the first boon that I come to crave, 

Is to grant me the life of young Logie." 

" O na, O na, may Margaret, 

Forsooth, and so it manna be ; 
For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland 

Shall not save the life of young Logie." 

But she has stown the king's redding kaim, 
Likewise the queen her wedding knife ; 

And sent the tokens to Carmichael, 
To cause young Logie get his life. 

She sent him a purse o' the red gowd, 

Another o' the white monie ; 
She sent him a pistol for each hand, 

And bade him shoot when he gat free. 

When he came to the tolbooth stair, 

There he let his volley flee ; 
It made the king in his chamber start, 

E'en in the bed where he might be. 

" Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a', 
And bid Carmichael come speak to me ; 

For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that, 
That yon's the shot o' young Logie." 

When Carmichael came before the king, 
He fell low down upon his knee ; 

The very first word that the king spake, 

Was, " Where's the laird of young Logie ?' 

Carmichael turn'd him round about, 

(I wot the tear blinded his e'e) 
" There came a token frae your grace, 

Has ta'en away the laird frae me." 

" Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael ? 

And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he; 
The morn the justice court's to stand, 

And Logie's place ye maun supply." 

Carmichael's awa' to Margaret's bower, 

Even as fast as he may drie — 
" O if young Logie be within, 

Tell him to come and speak with me !" 



Xa? 
fen 



PS 



May Margaret turned her round about, 
(I wot a loud laugh laughed she) 

" The egg is chipped, the bird is flown, 
Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie." 

The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith, 
The tother at the Queen's Ferrie : 

And she's gotten a father to her bairn, 
The wanton laird of young Logie. 



[" This ballad is founded upon a real event, 
1 which took place in the north of Scotland, in the 
^~jrp\ year 1571, during the struggles between the 
i party which held out for the imprisoned Queen 
Mary, and that which endeavoured to maintain 
the authority of her infant son James VI. The 
person here designated Edom o' Gordon, was 
Adam Gordon of Auehindown, brother of the 
marquis of Huntly, and his deputy as lieutenant 
of the north of Scotland for the queen. This 
gentleman committed many acts of oppression 
on the clan Forbes, under colour of the Queen's 
authority ; and, in one collision with that family, 
killed Arthur, brother to lord Forbes. He after- 
wards sent a party, under one captain Car, or 
Ker, to reduce the house of Towie, one of the 
) chief seats of the name of Forbes. The proprie- 
yggs ^j tor of this mansion being from home, his lady, 
| who was pregnant at the time, confiding too 
] much in her sex and condition, not only refused 
f^\ to surrender, but gave Car some very oppro- 
vJIIcn brious language over the walls; which irritated 
gJFjl J him so much, that he set fire to the house, and 
J burnt the whole inmates, amounting in all to 
eT^cy thirty-seven persons. As Gordon never cashiered 
fcrg\ Car for this inhuman action, he was held by the 
L jsr ) public voice to be equally guilty ; and accordingly 
s^l we here find a ballad in which he is represented 
\ as the principal actor himself. Gordon, in his 
l^v ] History of the Family of Gordon, informs us 
C^s- -K that, in the right old spirit of Scottish family 
jjHj M feud, the Forbeses afterwards attempted to 
jpCsiL/ assassinate Gordon on the streets of Paris. 
V„ (?/) ' Forbes,' he says, ' with these desperate fellows, 
^/^4 lay in wait, in the street through which he 
[7*\5\ was to return to his lodgings from the palace of 
j .-§= ) the Archbishop of Glasgow, then ambassador in 
V3p|y France. They discharged their pistols upon 
Auehindown, as he passed by them, and wound- 



fe ed him in the thigh. His servants pursued, but t 
j could not catch them ; they only found by good 
chance, Forbes's hat,in which was a paper with the 6 
name of the place where they were to meet. John | 
Gordon, lord of Glenluce and Longormes, son to / 
Alexander Gordon, bishop of Galloway, lord of. 
the bedchamber to the king of France, getting , 
instantly notice of this, immediately acquainted 
the king, who forthwith despatched le grand 
prevost de I'hotel, or the great provost of the 
palace, with his guards, in company with John 
Gordon, and Sir Adam's servants, to the place 
of their meeting to apprehend them. When 
they were arrived at the place, Sir Adam's ser- ■ 
vants, being impatient, rushed violently into the 
house, and killed Forbes ; but his associates were 
all apprehended, and broke upon the wheel.' 
This dreadful incident would surely have made an , 
excellent second part to the ballad." — Chambers. 
Edom of Gordon was first published by Lord 
Hailes, from the recitation of a lady, at Glasgow, 
1755, 12 pages, 4to. It was afterwards given by ' 
Percy in his Eeliques, with some alterations from 
his old MS. Percy's copy is here followed.] 

It fell about the Martinmas, 

When the wind blew shrill and cauld, 

Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, 
" We maun draw to a hauld. 



v\ 



I 



" And whatna hauld sail we draw to, 

My merrie-men and me ? 
We will gae to the house o* Ehodes, [Rothes] yi 

To see that fair ladye." 

\& 

She had nae sooner buskit hersel', 

Nor putten on her goun, 
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men 

Were round about the toun. 



They had nae sooner sitten doun, 
Nor suner said the grace, 

Till Edom o' Gordon and his men 
Were closed about the place. 

The ladye ran to her touir heid, 
A s fast as she could drie, 

To see if, by her fair speeches, 
She could with him agree. 

As sune as he saw the ladye fair, 
And hir yetts all lockit fast, 

He fell into a rage of wrath, 
And his heart was aghast. 






'Come down to me, ye ladye fair, 

Come down to me, let's see ; 

This nicht ye'se lie by my ain side, 

The morn my bride sail be." 

" I winna come doun, ye fause Gordon ; 

I winna come doun to thee ; 
I winna forsake my ain deir lord, 

That is sae far frae me." 

" Gi'e up your house, ye fair ladye, 

Gd'e up your house to me ; 
Or I will burn yoursel' therein, 

But and your babies thrie." 

" I winna gi'e 't up, thou fause Gordon, 

To nae sic traitor as thee ; 
Though thou suld burn mysel' therein, 

But and my babies thrie. 

" And ein wae worth you, Jcck, my man ! 

I paid ye weil your fee ; 
Why pou ye out my grund-wa-stane, 

Lets in the reek to me ? 

" And ein wae worth ye, Jock, my man 1 

I paid ye weil your hyre ; 
Why pou ye out my grund-wa-stane, 

To me lets in the lyre ?" 

" Ye paid me weil my hire, lady, 

Ye paid me weil my fee ; 
But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, 

Maun either do or die." 



O then bespake her youngest son, 

Sat on the nurse's knee, 
" Dear mother, gi'e ower your housa," he says, ' 

" For the reek it worries me." 

" I winna gi'e up my house, my dear, 

To nae sic traitor as he ; 
Come weel, come wae, my jewel fair, 

Ye maun tak' share wi' me." 

O then bespake her daughter deir ; 

She was baith jimp and sma' ; 
" row me in a pair o' sheets, 

And tow me ower the wa'." 

They rowed her in a pair o' sheets, 

And towed her ower the wa' ; 
But on the point o' Edom's speir 

She gat a deidly fa'. 




bonnie, bonnie, was her mouth, 

And cherry were her cheiks ; 
And cleir, cleir, was her yellow hair, 
Whereon the reid blude dreips. 

Then wi' his speir he turned her ower, 

gin her face was wan ! 

He said, " You are the first that eir 

1 wist alyve again." 

He turned her ower and ower again, 

O gin her skin was whyte ! 
He said, " I micht ha'e spared thy lyfe, 

To been some man's delyte. 

" Backe and boun, my merrie-men all, 
For ill dooms 1 do guess; 

1 canna luik on that bonnie face, 

As it lies on the grass !" 

" Them luiks to freits, my master deir, 
Then freits will follow them ; 

Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon 
Was dauntit by a dame." 

then he spied her ain deir lord, 

As he came o'er the lea ; 
He saw his castle in a fyre, 

As far as he could see. 

" Put on, put on, my michtie men, 

As fast as ye can drie ; 
For he that 's hindmost o ; my men, 

Sail ne'er get gude o' me." 

And some they rade, and some they ran, 

Fu' fast out ower the plain ; 
But lang, lang, ere he could get up, 

They a' were deid and slain. 

But mony were the mudie men, 

Lay gasping on the grene ; 
For o' fifty men that Edom brought, 

There were but fyve gaed hame. 

And mony were the mudie men, 

Lay gasping on the grene ; 
And mony were the fair ladyes, 

Lay lemanless at hame. 

And round and round the wa's he went, 

Their ashes for to view; 
At last into the flames he ran, 

And bade the world adieu. 



m 



fe£i 






46v 



ca 



[" This ballad, which contains some verses of 
merit, was taken down from recitation by Mr 
William Laidlaw, tenant in Traquair-knowe. It 
contains a legend, which, in various shapes, is 
current in Scotland. I remember to have heard 
a ballad, in which a fiend is introduced paying 
his addresses to a beautiful maiden ; but discon- 
certed by the holy herbs which she wore in her 
bosom, makes the following lines the burden of 
his courtship : 

' Gin ye wish to he layman mine, 
Lay aside the St John's wort and the vervain.' 
" The heroine of the following tale was unfor- 
tunately without any similar protection. ' ' — Scott.] 
" O where have you been, my long, long love, 

This long seven years and mair ?" 
" I'm come to seek my former vows 
Ye granted me before." 

" O hold your tongue of your former vows, 
For they will breed sad strife ; 

hold your tongue of your former vows 
For I am become a wife." 

He turned him right and round about, 

And the tear blinded his e'e; 
" I wad never ha'e trodden on Irish ground 

If it had not been for thee. 

" I might ha'e had a king's daughter, 
Far, far beyond the sea; 

1 might have had a king's daughter, 

Had it not been for love o' thee." 



(■=1. <\ "If ye might have had a king's daughter, 

Yer sel' ye had to blame ; 
p=- iH \/ Ye might have taken the king's daughter, 
"*• (3>1 For ye kend that I was nane." 

(C a \ " O faulse are the vows of womankind, 
fc=Ty But fair is their faulse bodie ; 

\jpi|l I never wad ha'e trodden on Irish ground, 
fS^l Had it not been for love o' thee." 

Vj=-ff\ " If I was to leave my husband dear, 
A.nd my two babes also, 
O what have you to take me to, 
If with you 1 should go ?" 

" I ha'e seven ships upon the sea, 
The eighth brought me to land ; 

With four-and-twenty bold mariners, 
And music on every hand." 



f© 



She has taken up her two little babes, 
Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin ; 

" O fair ye weel, my ain two babes, 
For I'll never see you again." 

She set her foot upon the ship, 

No mariners could she behold ; 
But the sails were o' the taffetie, 

And the masts o' the beaten gold. 

She had not sailed a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
When dismal grew his countenance, 

And drumlie grew his e'e. 

The masts, that were like the beaten gold, 

Bent not on the heaving seas ; 
But the sails, that were o' the taffetie, 

Fill'd not in the east land breeze. 

They had not sailed a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
Until she espied his cloven foot, 

And she wept right bitterlie. 

" hold your tongue of your weeping," says he, 
" Of your weeping now let me be, 

1 will show you how the lilies grow 
On the banks of Italy." 

" O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, 
That the sun shines sweetly on ?" 

" yon are the hills of heaven," he said, 
" Where you will never win." 

" O whaten a mountain is yon," she said, 
" All so dreary wi' frost and snow ?" 

" yon is the mountain of hell," he cried, 
" Where you and I will go." 

And aye when she turn'd her round about, 

Aye taller he seem'd for to be ; 
Until that the tops o' that gallant ship 

Nae taller were than he. 

The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud, 

And the levin filled her e'e ; 
And waesome vvail'd the snow-white sprites 

Upon the gurlie sea. 

He strack the tap-mast wi' his hand, 

The fore-mast wi' his knee ; 
And he brake that gallant ship in twain, 

And sank her in the sea. 



ml JPIottce* 

[Under this head, we reprint here all that 

I Mr Motherwell haa collected, in his Minstrelsy 

y Ancient and Modern, regarding the celebrated 

^LJ ballad of Gil Morice. Besides giving the diffe- 

^=~ rent versions of Percy, Jamieson, &c, accom- 

W ) panied with illustrative commentary, Mr Mother. 

well publishes for the first time an ancient ditty 

called " Child SToryce," which he was fortunate 

enough to obtain from the singing of an old 

woman in Paisley, and which he considers to be 

^Tj/ the original or germ of Gil Morice. Altogether, 

/Vj Mr Motherwell's collections and illustrations on 

= the subject of Gil Morice will be found to be 

extremely complete and satisfactory.] 

Of the many ancient ballads which have been 
preserved by tradition among the peasantry of 
Scotland-, none has excited more interest in the 
world of letters, than the beautiful and pathetic 

\ tale of "Gil Morice;" and this, no less on ac- 
count of its own intrinsic merits as a piece of 
exquisite poetry, than of its having furnished the 
plot of the justly celebrated tragedy of Douglas.* 
It has likewise supplied Mr Langhorne with the 
principal materials from which he has woven 
the fabric of his sweet, though prolix poem of 
" Owen of Carron;" and Mr Jamieson mentions 
that it has also been "made the subject of a 
dramatic entertainment with songs, by Mr Ren- 
nie of Aberdeen." Perhaps the list could be 
easily increased of those who have drawn their 
inspiration from this affecting strain of Olden 
Minstrelsy. 

If any reliance is to be placed on the traditions 
of that part of the country where the scene of 
the ballad is laid, we will be enforced to believe 
that it is founded on facts which occurred at 
some remote period of Scottish History. The 
" gTeen wood" of the ballad was the ancient 

i_ forest of Dundaff in Stirlingshire, and lord Bar- 



nard's castle is said to have occupied a precipi- 
tous cliff overhanging the water of Carron, on 
the lands of Haibertshire. A small burn which 
joins the Carron, about five miles above these 
lands, is named the Earlsburn, and the hill near 
the source of that stream, is called the Earlshill, 
both deriving their appellations, according to the 
unvarying traditions of the country, from the un- 
fortunate Erie's son who is the hero of the bal- 
lad, t He, also, according to the same respecta- 
ble authority, was " beautiful exceedingly," and 
especially remarkable for the extreme length and 
loveliness of his yellow hair which shrouded him, 
as it were a golden mist. To these floating tra- 
ditions, we are probably indebted for the at- 
tempts which have been made to improve and 
embellish the ballad, by the introduction of 
various new stanzas since its first appearance in a -- ? 
printed form. 

Of the early printed editions of this ballad, the l=rOk 
editor has been unable to procure any copy.i In r / — ^ 
Percy's Reliques, it is mentioned that it had run ' JS §=£ 
through two editions in Scotland, the second of . ,--~~r 
which appeared at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo.; and :j^.i~ 
that to both there was prefixed an advertisement, 
setting forth, that the preservation of the poem 






f "It has been thought," says the writer cf the 
Statistical account of St Ninians, " though it cannot 
be certainly determined, that the Earl's burn, the Eaii's 
hill, a hill and rivulet in the muirland part of the - > 
parish, derived their names from the residence of 
some feudal baron or earl in the neighbourhood of the 
Carron. It is natural to suppose, that Gillies hill, M= 
another hill in the muirland part of the parish, de- ijfrS| 
rives its name from the name Gill or Gillies. The ==. ^p 
names both oi Gilles and -Morrison occur in the muir- 
lands. It is certain, that the fair lady, mother of Gil jt 
Morice, ' lived on the Carronside.' This union of facts '■)%- 
and probabilities suggests to the imagination, though i^-=S_> 
it cannot persuade the judgment, that this parish was ' gZ"^ 
the scene of the tragical song, known by the name of fep= -== 
Gil Morice.'' — Statistical Account of Scotland, Vol. f^\J 
XVIII. p. 392. If the reverend author, instead of ^O*. « 
stringing together his facts and probabilities, had con- '--' ~ 
suited some of the ancient sybils who were his parish- 
ioners in that quarter, upon "the subject, he would have s^^p-^t 
arrived at more certainty in his deductions. 
| + Since writing this, he has been kindly favoured jp^.-^^ 
; by Mr David Laing of Edinburgh, -with an edition, f yi^W 
i which, though it has neither place, date, nor printer's j*> =z\ 
| name, may, from its title, be considered as the first ^L 
Edinburgh edition, and printed probably in 1756. The Ll"~= - 
title is ?iven at length. " Gill Morice an Ancient Scots >_3=^ -=§ 
i Poem. The foundation of the Tragedy, called Douglas, i\^^ 
acted in the Concert-hall, Canongate." >Sc -o 



I as it is now 
« -"When this tra?edy was originally produced at i Except some slight variations in orthography, and 
Edinburgh in 1756, the title of the heroine was Ladv j its omitting the 16 additional verses which are men- 
~ -nard~ the alteration to Ladv Randolph was made | tioned by bishop Percy as having been subsequently 



s being transp'u 
in Co vent Garden in 1757 
Vol. II. p. 175. 



London." It was acted ji added tothe ballad, there is no other material diffe- J^J J 
Biographia Dramaticr., , ; ; rence between this edition and that which is reprint- s=t~^z 
^ ed in the Reliques. 



9^ 

FB 



SD 



was owing " to a lady who favoured the printers^ 
with a copy, as it was carefully collected from 
the mouths of old women and nurses," and re- 
questing <£ that any reader who could render it 
more perfect and complete, would oblige the 
public with such improvements." This was 
holding out too tempting a bait noj; to be greedi- 
ly snapped at by some of those " ingenious 
hands" who have corrupted the purity of legen- 
dary song in Scotland, by manifest forgeries and 
gross impositions. Accordingly, sixteen addi- 
tional verses soon appeared in manuscript, which 
the editor of the Reliques has inserted in their 
proper places, though he rightly views them in 
no better light than that of an ingenious inter- 
polation. Indeed, the whole ballad of " Gil 
Morice," as the writer of the present notice has 
been politely informed by the learned and ele- 
gant edit r of the Border Minstrelsy, underwent 
a total revisal, about the period when the trage- 
dy of Douglas was in the zenith of its popularity, 
and this improved copy, it seems, embraced the 
ingenious interpolation above referred to. In- 
dependent altogether of this positive informa- 
tion, any one familiar with the state in which 
traditionary poetry has been transmitted to the 
present times, can be at no loss to detect many 
more " ingenious interpolations,'' as well as para- 
phrastic additions in the ballad as now printed. 
But though it has been grievously corrupted in 
this way, the most scrupulous inquirer into 
the authenticity of ancient song can have no 
hesitation in admitting, that many of its verses, 
even as they now stand, are purely traditionary, 
and fair, and genuine parcels of antiquity, un- 
alloyed with any base admixture of modern in- 
vention, and in no wise altered, save in those 
changes of language, to which all oral poetry is 
unavoidably subjected in its progress from one 
age to another. For the gratification of the 
general reader, and for the apter illustration of 
the more ancient and less vitiated sets of the 
ballad which follow, an accurate reprint of the 
copy which occurs in " Percy's Reliques" is now 
given. 

GIL MORICE.* 



Gil Morice was an erle's son, 
His name it waxed wide ; 



* The acknowledged interpolated portions of i 
this set are distinguished by being enclosed s ~ 
brackets. 



It was nae for his great riches, 

is' or zet his mickle pride ; 
Bot it was for a lady gay,f 

That liv'd on Carron side. 

"Quhair sail I get a bonnie boy, 
That will win hose and shoen ; 

That will gae to lord Barnard's ha", 
And bid his lady cum ? 

" And ze maun rin my errand, Willie, 

And ze may rin wi' pride; 
Quhen other boys gae on their foot, 

On horseback ze sail ride." 

" O no ! no ! my master dear ! 

1 dare nae for my life ; 
I'll no gae to the bauld barons, 

For to triest furth his wife." 

" My bird Willie, my boy Willie, 

My dear Willie," he say'd: 
" How can ze strive against the stream ? 

For I sail be obeyed." 

" Bot, my master dear !" he cry'd, 
" In grene wod ze're your lain ; 

Gi owre sic thochts, 1 wald ze rede, 
For fear ze should be tain." 

<c Haste, haste, I say gae to the ha', 

Bid hir cum here wi' speid ; 
If ze refuse my heigh command, 

I '11 gar zour body bleid. 

" Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, 

'Tis a' gowd bot the hem ; 
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode, 

And bring nane bot hir lain ; 

" And there it is, a silken sarke, 
Hir ain hand sevvd the sleive ; 

And bid hir cum to Gil Morice, 
Speir nae bauld barons leave. 



f The stall copies of the ballad complete the ' 
stanza thus: 

His lace was fair, lang was his hair, 

In the wild woods he staid ; 
But his fame was for a fair lady 
That lived on Canonside. 
Which is no injudicious interpolation, inasmuch 
as it is founded upon the traditions current 
among the vulgar, regarding Gil Morice's comely i 
face and long yellow hair. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



115 



w Yes I will gae your black errand, 

Though it be to zour cost; 
Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd, 

In it ze sail find frost. 

" The baron he is a man of might, 
He neir could bide to taunt; 

As ee will see before its nicht, 
How sma' ze ha'e to vaunt. 

" And sen I maun zour errand ris, 

Sae sair against my will ; 
Ise mak' a vow and keip it trow, 

It sail be done for ill." 

And quhen he came to broken brigue, 
He bent his bow and swam ; 

And quhen he came to grass growing, 
Set down his feet and ran. 

And quhen he came to Barnard's ha', 
Would neither chap nor ca' ; 

Bot set his bent bow to his breist,* 
And lichtly lap the wa'. 

He wauld nae tell the man his errand, 
Though he stude at the gait ; 

Bot straight into the ha' he cam', 
Quhair they were set at meit. 

" Hail ! hail ! my gentle sire and dame ! 

My message winna waite ; 
Dame ze maun to the gude grene wod, 

Before that it be late. 

'* Ze're bidden tak' this gay mantel, 

'Tis a* gowd bot the hem ; 
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode, 

Ev'n by yoursel' alane. 

" And there it is a silken sarke, 
Your ain hand sewd the sleive ; 

Ze maun gae speik to G-il Morke, 
Speir nae bauld barons leave." 



_==^/ ] * This line, the stall copies give thus : 
f s-j/\ " - But bent Ws bow to his white breast," 

y£j*>$ A reading very expressive of the action meant to 
i v be described, and which, if correct, would render 

| ,— -V nugatory all Mr Jamieson's arguments upon a 
grliL similar passage, in another ballad, to prove that, 

fNIs 1 instead of lent, we should substitute brent. 



The lady stamped wi' hir foot, 

And winked wi' hir e'e; 
Bot a' that she coud say or do, 

Forbidden he wad nae bee. 

f ' Its surely to my bowT-woman, 

It neir could be to me." 
'* I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady, 

I trow that ze be she." 

Then up and spack the wylie nurse, 

(The bairn upon hir knee;) 
" If it be cum frae Gil Morice, 

It's deir welcum to mee." 

" Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse, 

Sae loud I heird ze lee ; 
I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady,. 

I trow ze be nae shee." 

Then up and spack the bauld baron, 

An angry man was hee ; 
He's tain the table wi' his foot, 

Sae has he wi' his knee ; 
Till siller cup and mazerf dish, 

In flinders he gard flee. 

" Gae bring a robe of zour eliding, 

That hings upon the pin ; 
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode, 

And speik wi' zour lemman." 

<c bide at hame, now lord Barnard, 

I warde ze bide at hame ; 
Neir wyte a man for violence, 

That neir wate ze wi' nane." 

Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode, 

He whistled and he sang : 
'* what means a' the folk coming, 

My mother tardea lang." 

[His hair was like the threeds of gold, 
Drawne frae Minerva's loome; 

His lipps like rosea drapping dew, 
His breath was a' perfume. 

His brow was like the mountain sua, 

Gilt by the morning beam ; 
His cheeks like living roses glow : 

His een like azure stream. 

f i. e. A drinking cup of maple; other edit. 
«S read ezar,— Percy, 



S3 



W 



% 



d^ 






r®) 






The boy was clad in robes of greens, 
Sweete as the infant spring ; 

And like the mavis on the bush, 
He gart the vallies ring.] 

The baron came to the grene wode, 

Wi' mickle dule and care; 
And there he first spied Gil Morice, 

Kameing his zellow hair : 

[That sweetly wav'd around his face, 
That face beyond compare ; 

He sang sae sweet, it might dispel 
A' rage, but fell dispair.] 

" Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gil Morice, 

My lady loved thee weel ; 
The fairest part of my hodie, 

Is blacker than thy heel. 

" Zet neir the less now Gil Morice, 

For a' thy great beautie, 
Zes rew the day ze eir was born, 

That head sail gae wi' me." 

Now he has drawn his trusty brand, 

^.nd slaited on the strae ;* 
And through Gil Morice fair body, 

He's gar cauld iron gae. 

And he has tain Gil Morice head, 

And set it on a speir; 
The meanest man in a' his train 

Has gotten that head to bear. 

And he has tain Gil Morice up, 

Laid him across his steid, 
And brocht him to his painted Lowr, 

And laid him on a bed. 

The lady sat on the castil wa', 
Beheld baith dale and down ; 

And there she saw Gil Morice head, 
Cum trailing to the town. 

" Far better I love that bluidy head, 

Bot, and that zellow hair, 
Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 

As they lig here and thair." 



* This line, to get at its meaning, should be 
printed, " And slait it on the strae." Mr Pin- 
kerton has a most ridiculous gloss on this pas- 
sage in his " Tragic Ballads." 



And she has tain her Gil Morice, 
And kissed baith mouth and chin; 

I was once as fou of Gil Morice, 
As the hip is o' the stean. 

" I got ze in my father's house, 

Wi' mickle sin and shame ; 
I brocht thee up in gude green wode, 

Under the heavy rain. 

" Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, 
And fondly seen thee sleep ; 

Bot now I gae about thy grave, 
The saut tears for to weep." 

And syne she kissed his bluidy cheik, 
And syne his bluidy chin : 
u O better I lo'e my Gil Morice, 
Than a' my kith and kin I" 

" Away, away, ze ill woman, 
And an ill death mait ze dee ; 

Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son, 
He'd neir bin 6lain for mee." 

" Obraid me not, my lord Barnard ! 

Obraid me not for shame ! 
Wi' that same speir, O pierce my heart ! 

And put me out o' pain. 

" Since nothing bot Gil Morice head, 
Thy jealous rage could quell ; 

Let that saim hand now tak' hir life, 
That neir to thee did ill. 

" To me nae after days nor nichts, 

Will ere be saft or kind ; 
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs, 

And greet till I am blind." 

" Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt, 
Seek not zour death frae mee ; 

I rather lourd it had been mysel', 
Than eather him or thee. 

" With waefo wae I hear zour plaint; 

Sair, sair I rew the deid, 
That eir this cursed hand of mine, 

Had gard his body bleid. 

" Dry up zour tears my winsome dame, 
Ze neir can heal the wound ; 

Ze see his head upon the speir, 
His heart's blude on the ground. 



'■sfi- 



8 







" I curse the hand that did the deid, 
The heart that thocbt the ill; 

The feet that bore me wi' sik speid, 
The comely youth to Kill. 

" I'll ay lament for Gil Morice, 
As gin he were mine ain ; 

I'll neir forget the dreiry day, 
On which the zouth was slain."* 



In the shape which it now bears, the fore- 
going ballad must be considered as one wbose 
'-'- text has been formed out of various sets com- 
bined by the taste, and in all likelihood mate- 
rially eked out by the invention, of the editor of 
y?,17 55. The worthy and useful class of "old 
women and nurses," from whose mouths it is 
^hf\ stated to be carefully taken, has not entirely 
^disappeared, but it would defy the most un- 
'--_ : "._ ^t- wearied and persevering industry, to obtain 
from their lips, in this day, any duplicate of the i 
present copy which could, by unexceptionable 
evidence, be traced to a period anterior to the j 
date of the first edition. The scene of wire- j 
drawn recrimination between lord Barnard and i 
his lady, which is quite out of keeping with the j 
. character of the " bold baron," is of itself quite 
enough to convince any one versant in this i 
'pecies of literature, that it has come through | 
the refining hands of a modern ballad wright. j 
In this opinion, the present writer does not 
yEk- t>tand singular, for both Mr Ritson and Mr j 
l|p Jamieson agree in rejecting as spurious, 
~~% stanzas which follow after the one beginning 



" Awa', awa' ye ill woman." 

And the opinion of these critics in such a ques- 
W^( tion, is certainly entitled to much deference. 

But, fortunately for those desirous of fixing 
the genuineness of traditionary poetry, the opin- 
ion now expressed does not rest for its accuracy 
on mere conjecture. In the course of his inqui- 
/£ ries on this subject, the editor received from the 
G=a recitation of an old woman, a copy, which, while 
it confirms that opinion, and affords a fair speci- 
es men of what the sets of the ballad probably I 

| 

* It may be proper to mention, that other 
copies read the 2nd line of stanza 27 thus, 
Shot frae the golden sun, 
-===-f And in stanza 28, as follows, 

His een like azure sheene.— Percy. 



'" were, from which the text of " Gil Morice" was 
selected, likewise proves that the editor of the 
Eeliques was perfectly correct when he stated 
that the ballad was current in Scotland, under 
the very title which the present copy bears, viz. 

CHIELD MORICE.f 

Ckield Morice was an earl's son, 

His name it waxed wide ; 
It was nae for his parentage, 

Nor yet his meikle pride ; 
But it was for a lady gay, 

That lived on Carron side. 

" "Willie, my man, my errand gang, 
And you maun rin wi' speed ; 

"When other boys rin on their feet, 
On horseback ye shall ride." 

" master dear I love you weel, 

And I love you as my life ; 
But I will not gae to lord Barnard's ha', 

For to tryst forth his wife. 

" For the baron he's a man of might, 
He ne'er could bide a taunt; 

And ye shall see or it be late, 
How meikle ye'll ha : e to vaunt." 

" you must rin my errand, Willie, 
And you maun rin wi' speed ; 

And if you don't obey my hie command, 
I'll gar your body bleed. 

■* And here it is a gay manteel, 

Its a' gowd bot the hem ; 
Bid her come speak to Chield Morice, 

Bring nae body but her lane. 

<e And here it is a Holland smock, 
Her ain hand sewed the sleeve ; 

Bid her come speak to Chield Morice, 
Ask not the baron's leave." 



^ 



f This was the title given by the old woman 
herself. She is now 70 years of age, and the bal- 
lad in question she learned in her infancy from 
her grandmother. She mentions that at a later 
period of her life she also committed to memory 
" Gil Morice," which began with young lasses 
like her to be a greater favourite, and more fash- 
ionable than the set which her grandmother and 









r M 



'<jfU 







m 



(M 






" Since I must rih this errand for you, 

Sae sair against my will ; 
I've made a vow, and I'll keep it tree, 

It shall be done for ill." 

For he did not ask the porter's leave, 

Though he stood at the gate ; 
But straight he ran to the big hall, 

Where great folk sat at meat. 

" Good hallow gentle sir and dame, 

My errand eanna wait ; 
Dame ye must gae speak to Chield Morice, 

Before it be too late. 

" And here it is a gay manteel, 

Its a' gowd bot the hem ; 
Ye must come speak to Chield Morice, 

Bring nae body but your lane. 

" And here it is a Holland smock, 
Your ain hand sewed the sleeve ; 

You must come speak to Chield Morice— 
Ask not the baron's leave." 

Oh aye she stamped wi' her foot, 

And winked wi' her e'e, 
But for a' that she could say or do, 

Forbidden he wadna be. 

" It's surely to my bouir-woman, 

It canna be to me." 
" 1 brocht it to lord Barnard's lady,. 

And I trow that thou art she." 

Out then spak' the wylie nurse, 
Wi' the bairn just on her knee, 

" If this be come from Chield Morice, 
It's dear welcome to me." 

" Thou lies, thou lies, thou wylie nurse, 

Sae loud's I hear thee lie, 
I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady, 

And I trow thou binna she." 

Then up and rose him the bold baron, 

And an angry man was he ; 
He took the table wi' his foot, 

And kepp'd it wi' his knee, 
Till silver cup and ezar dish 

In flinders they did flee. 

other old folks used to sing under the title of 
"* Chield Morice." 



" Go bring me one of thy cleiding 

That hings upon the pin, 
And I'll awa' to the gude green wood, 

And crack wi' your leman." 

"I would have you stay at hame, lord B r- 
nard, 

I would have you stay at hame ; 
Never wyte a man for violence done 

That never thocht you wrang." 

And when he to the green wood went, 

Nobody saw he there, 
But Chield Morice on a milk-white stted, 

Combing down his yellow hair. 

Chield Morice sat in the gay green wood, 

He whistled and he sang ; 
" O what means a' thir folk coming ? 

My mother tarries lang." 

"No wonder, no wonder, Chield Morice/' 
he said, 

" My lady loved thee weel, 
For the whitest bit of my body 

Is blacker than thy heel. 

" But nevertheless now, Chield Morice, 

For a' thy gay beautie ; 
Oh nevertheless now, Chield Morice, 

Thy head shall go with me." 

He had a rapier by his side, 

Hung low down by his knee; 
He struck Chield Morice on the neck, 

Till aff his head did flee. 

Then he's ta'en up that bluidy head, 

And stuck it on a spear, 
And the meanest man in a' his train 

Gat Chield Morice head to bear. 

The lady look'd owre the castle wa', 

Wi' muckle dule and down,* 
And there she saw Chield Morice head, 

Coming trailing to the town. 



W 



* So recited, the word down must here be con- 
sidered as signifying a presentiment of coming 
evil. Qua re— whether does this line, or the cor- 
responding one in Gil Morice, preserve the right 
reading ? 




But he's ta'en up this bluidy head, 
And dash'd it 'gainst the wa' ; 

" Come down, come down, you ladies fair, 
And play at this footba' !" 

Then she's ta'en up this bluidy head, 
And she kiss'd it baith cheek and chin ; 

" I would rather ha'e ae kiss o' that bluidy 
head, 
Than a' thy earldom. 

" I got him in my father's bower, 

Wi' meikle sin and shame ; 
And I brocht him up in the gay green wood, 

Beneath the heavy rain. 

" Many a day have I rock'd thy cradle, 

And fondly seen thee sleep ; 
But now I'll gang about thy grave, 

And sair, sair will I weep." 

" woe be to thee, thou wild woman, 
And an ill deid may thou die; 

For if ye had tauld me he was your son, 
He should ha'e ridden and gane wi' me." 

" O hold your tongue, you bold baron, 
And an ill deid may thou die ; 

He had lands and rents enew of his ain, 
He needed nane frae thee." 

Ip "Then I'll curse the hand that did the 

M deed, 

The heart that thocht him ill, 
<J The feet that carried me speedilie, 

<t\ This comely youth to kill." 

%/ This lady she died gin ten o' the clock, 

Lord Barnard he died gin twal'; 
And bonnie boy, now sweet Willie, 
J What's come o' him I canna tell. 

M Besides the foregoing, there seems to have 

1 been another version of this ballad at one time 

V* known, three stanzas of which, being all that he 

y\ was able to recover, Mr Jamieson has given in 

j his "Notes on Childe Maurice." These stanzas 

~, are said to be the beginning and end of the 

J piece. They are as follows 

" Gil Morris sat in Silver wood, 

He whistled and he sang ; 
Where sail I get a bonnie boy, 

My errand for to gang. 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" He's ca'd his foster brither, Willie, 
' Come win ye hose and shoon, 

And gae unto lord Barnard's ha', 
And bid his lady come.' 

" And she has ta'en the bloody head, 

And cast it i' the brim, 
Syne gather'd up her robes of green, 

And last she followed him." 

The set of the ballad to which these verses be- 
long, the editor has been at some pains to re- 
cover ; but in this respect, he has been equally 
unfortunate with Mr Jamieson. He has been 
informed, however, by Mr Sharpe, that the 
above fragmentis incorporated in an Annandale 
version of the ballad, which also ingrafts a novel 
feature on the story, inasmuch as it is wound up 
by making the ghost of the slain youth appear to 
his mother, between whom, a colloquy, some- 
what in the vein of May Margaret's discourse 
with the spirit of Clerk Saunders, takes place ; 
and then, agreeably to established use and wont, 
after such an interview, she follows the noiseless 
footsteps of the beloved shade, and expires on the 
spot where it is resolved into " thin air." 

The precise form in which the ballad was 
known to the author of " Douglas," cannot now 
be ascertained. From the circumstance of the 
catastrophe of the above fragment, and that of 
the tragedy agreeing with each other,* Mr 
Jamieson fancies it probable, that it may have 
been part of the traditionary version followed by 
Mr Home. The present editor has been politely 
informed by Sir Walter Scott, that he had, at 
different times, inquired of the late Mr Home con- 
cerning the ballad on which his poem was sup- 
posed to be founded, but without success, owing 
to the then impaired state of the venerable dra- 
matist's memory. 

At rather an early period, the ballad, some- 
what differing, it must be confessed, from any 
copy known to exist in Scotland, appears to 
have been also popular in the north of England : 
and indeed with it, as with many more, it might 
be difficult to say to which country it of right 
exclusively belongs. This is the set of the ballad 



* The discrepancy iii this particular, between the 
common edition of the ballad and the tragedy of 
Douglas, has been prettily supplied by some miserable 
verse maker, whose delectable continuation, extend- 
ing to six stanzas, the curious reader wiLL riud printed 
among Mr Jamieson'* notes oa " Childe Maurice." 










; 120 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






to which Dr Percy refers, as occurring in his 

folio MS., under the title of " Childe Maurice;" 

and it has been printed by Mr Jamieson in his 

collection from that MS. with minute fidelity, 

who thereby hath conferred no small favour on 

the lovers of ancient song. As it is not only a 

curious version withal, but likewise peculiarly 

illustrative, both of the sets which have gone 

§ before, and of that one which gives a title to 

^ this prolix argument ; it is to be hoped that no 

apology will be necessary for presenting it here 

to the reader, more especially as the valuable 

x : collection, from which it is extracted, hath not 

been so well received by the world as its merits 

IQlfX deserve. 

CHILDE MAURICE. 






Childe Maurice hunted ithe silven wood* 
he hunted it round about 
& noebody yt he found theren 
nor noebody without 



and tooke his silver combe in his hand 
to kembe his yellow lockes 

he sayes come hither thou litle foot page 
y ! runneth lowly by my knee 
ffor thou shalt goe to John Steward's wiffe 
& pray her speake w*h mee 

& as it ffalls out many times 

as knotts been knitt on a kell 

or merchantmen gone to leeve London 

either to buy wave or sell 

and grete thou doe y ladye well 
ever so well ffroe mee 

and as it ffalls out many times 

has any harte can thinke 
^jL/ as schoole masters are in any schoole house 

writting with pen and inke 

ffor if I might as well a* shee may 
this night I wold w lil her speake 



m 



fp$ 



& heere I send a mantle of greene 
as greene as any grasse 
and bid her come to the silver woodf 
to hunt w-" Childe Maurice. 



Ijrf * Silven, sic in MS. + Silver wood, sic in MS. ^ 



& there I send her a ring of gold 
a ring of precyous stone 
and bid her come to the silver wood 
let for no kind of man ; 

one while this litle boy he yode 
another while he ran 
until he came to John Steward's hail 
1 wis he never blan 

and of nurture the child had good 
he ran up hall & bower ffree 
and when he came to this lady ffaire 
sayes God you save and see 

I am come ffrom Childe Maurice 
a message unto thee 
& Childe Maurice he greets you well 
& ever soe well ffrom me 

and as it ffalls out oftentimes 

as knotts been knitt on a kell 

or merchant men gone to leeve London 

either to buy or sell 

& as oftentimes he greetes you well 
as any hart can thinke 
or schoolemaster in any schoole 
wryting w lU pen and inke 

& heere he sends a mantle of greene 
as greene as any grasse 
& he bidds you come to the silver wood 
to hunt w tu child Maurice 

& heere he sends you a ring of gold 
a ring of preoyous stone 
he prayes you to come to the silver wood 
let for no kind of man 

now peace, now peace, thou litle fotpage 
ffor Christe's sake I pray thee 
ffor if my Lo heare one of those word3 
thou must be hanged hye 

John Steward stood under the castle wall 
& he wrote the words every one 

& he called unto his horsse keeper 
make ready you my steede 
and soe he did to his Chamberlaine 
make readme then my weed 




SCOTTISH BALLAD?. 



121 



& he cast a lease upon his backe 
& he rode to the silver wood 
& there he sought all about 
about the silver wood 

to there he found him Child Maurice 
sitting vpon a blocke 
W th a silver combe in his hand 
kembing his yellow locke 

he sayes how now how now Child Maurice 
alacke how may this bee 
but then stood by him Child Maurice 
&c sayd these words trulye 

I do not know your ladye he said 
if that I do her see 
ffor thou hast sent her love tokens 
more now then 2 or 3 

for thou hast sent her a mantle of grcene 
as green e as any grasse 
& bade her come to the silver wood 
to hunt w ch Childe Maurice 

and by my faith now Childe Maurice ' 
the tane of us shall dye 
now by my troth sayd Childe Maurice 
& that shall not be 1 

but he pulled out a bright browne sword 
& dryed it on the grasse 
& soe fast he smote at John Steward 
I wis he never rest 

then hee pulled forth his bright browne sword 
& dryed itt on hi9 sleeve 
& the ffirst good stroke John Steward stroke 
Child Maurice head he did cleeve 

& he pricked it on his sword's poynt 
went singing there beside 
and he rode till he came to the ladye ffaire 
whereas his ladye lyed 

ar i sayes dost thou know Child Maurice head 

iff that thou dost it see 

and llap it soft, and kisse itt offt 

ffor thou lovedst him better than mee 

but when shee looked on Childe Maurice head 
shee never spake words but three 
I never beare noe childe but one 
and you have slain him trulye 




sayes wicked be my merry men all 
I gave meate drink and clothe 
but cold they not have holden me 
when I was in all that wrath 

ffor I have slaine one of the courteousest knights 
that ever betrode a steede 
soe have I done one of the fairest ladyes 
that ever were womans weede 

What has gone before, forms a fit introduc- £ 
tion to the very ancient traditionary ballad on 
the same subject, which is now for the first time \ 
printed. With much deference to the opinion 
of others skilled in these matters, the editor has L 
to challenge for it in point of antiquity, a prece- ;> - 
dence far above any of its fellows : indeed, in his k; 
judgment, it has every appearance of being the Vj.P 1 
prime root, from which all the variations of the f 
ballad heretofore known have originated. 

In this place, it may be remarked too, that it r 5 ^ 
obviously preserves the true title of the ballad, 
" Morice" and "Maurice" being evident corrup- 
tions of " Norice," a nursling, or foster, corrup- ^ 
tions which from similarity of sound in the enun- vJ 
ciation, can easily be conceived as likely ones 
into which reciters, who learn by the ear, are ex- V- — 
ceedingly apt to fall ; and corruptions of which {&F- 
the experience of every one who has attempted 
to collect these interesting monuments of early - 
song, can furnish ample parallels. Again, its 
clear, straight-forward, rapid and succinct nar- 
rative—its extreme simplicity of style and utter V ^"; 
destitution of all ornament, argue most power- . ^ "^ 
fully in behalf of the primitiveness and authen- W, 
ticity of its text. It is, in fact_ the very anatomy 
of a perfect ballad, wanting nothing that it should 
have, and having nothing that it should want. 
By testimony of a most unexceptionable descrip- V 
tion— but which it would be tedious here to de- \ Gj J 
tail — the editor can distinctly trace this ballad as L 
existing in its present shape, at least a century . k*^\ 
ago, which carries it decidedly beyond the date of Vjjp 
the first printed copy of Gil Morice; and this ' sFis . 
with a poem which has been preserved but by W 
oral tradition, is no mean positive antiquity. If \^t? 
we imagine it a more ancient version than that , 
contained in Dr Percy's MS., our sole means of 
arriving at a satisfactory conclusion must be de- 
rived from such internal evidence as the ballad 
itself affords ; and, both versions being now be- *j 
fore the reader, he is enabled to judge deliberate- 
ly for himself, and to form his own opinion, on 
that which many will, ere this, I suspect, have 
deemed a very unimportant subject. 



(T-**^^^./ ■== 




I In conclusion, it may be mentioned, that the v^ 
ballad is exceedingly rare ; and, so far as the edi- 

% tor has been able to learn, it has escaped the no- 
tice of our most eminent collectors of traditionary 
poetry. This may be ascribed to the refined and 
ornate paraphrase of Gil Morice, having sup- 
planted it in the affections of the vulgar, in the 

I same way as the poem of " Sir James the Rose," 
attributed to the pen of Michael Bruce, hath ab- 
sorbed, almost entirely, the memory of the old 
ballad on which it is founded. 



J ^ 



CHILD NORYCE.* 

Child Nokvce is a clever young man, 

He wavers wi' the wind; 
His horse was silver shod before, 

With the beaten gold behind. 

He called to his little man John, 

Saying, " You don't see what I see ; 

For oh yonder I see the very first woman, 
That ever loved me. 

" Here is a glove, a glove," he said, 

" Lined with the silver grey; 
You may tell her to come to the merry green 
wood, 

To speak to child Nory. 

" Here is a ring, a ring," he says, 

" Its all gold but the stane; 
You may tell her to come to the merry green 
wood, 

And ask the leave o' nane." 

" So well do I love your errand, my master, 

But far better do I love my life ; 
>0 would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's 
castel, 
To betray away his wife ?" 



* That the reader may have no room to doubt 
the genuineness of a ballad for which a very high 
antiquity is claimed, the editor thinks it right to 
mention, that it is given verbatim as it was 
taken down from the singing of widow M'Cor- | 
mick, who, at this date, (January, 1825,) resides | 
in Westbrae Street of Paisley. Q 




" don't I give you meat," he sajs, 

" And don't I pay you fee P 
How dare you stop my errand," he says, 

"My orders you must obey." 

Oh when he came to Lord Barnard's castel, [ II 

He tinkled at the ring ; 
"Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself,! /\j 

To let this little boy in. 

" Here is a glove, a glove," he says, 

" Lined with the silver grey ; 
You are bidden to come to the merry green £ 

To speak to Child Nory. [wood, CQ 

" Here is a ring, a ring," he 9ays, 

" Its all gold but the stane : 
You are bidden to come to the merry green /^ 
wood, 

And ask the leave o* nane." 

Lord Barnard he was standing by, 

And an angry man was he : 
" Oh, little did I think there was a lord in this V " 
world, 

My lady loved but me!" V^ 

Oh he dressed himself in the holland smocks, 

And garments that was gay;£ 
And he is away to the merry green wood, 

To speak to Child Nory. 

Child Noryce sits on yonder tree 

He whistles and he sings ; 
" O wae be to me," says Child Noryce, 

" Yonder my mother comes !" 

Child Noryce he came off the tree, 

His mother to take off the horse ; 
" Och, alace, alace," says Child Noryce, 

My mother was ne'er so gross." 

f This unquestionably should be Lady Bar- 
nard, instead of her Lord, see 3d stanza under ; 
but as it was so recited, this obvious error the 
editor did not conceive himself warranted to cor- 
rect, more especially as he has found it out of his 
power to obtain another copy of the ballad from 
any different quarter. 

$ This ballad more distinctly than either Gil 
Morice or Chield Morice, announces the disguise 
resorted to by Lord Barnard, in order to surprise 
his supposed rival. 



^^iJ^-xlM 




? Lord Barnard he had a little small sword, 

'. y^cJ That hung low down by his knee ; 

J^X He cut the head off Child Ncarjce, 

*J^§T\ And put the body on a tree. 

^U= \ And when he came to his casiel, 

And to his lady's hail, 
\cV5\ He threw the head into her lap, 

Saying, "Lady, there is a bail !" 

jspS She turned up the bloody head, 

She kissed it frae cheek to chin ; 
Js^4i " Far better dc I love this bloody head, 
Than all my royal kin. 

" "When I was in my father's castell, 
In my virginitie ; 
)o5&\ There came a lord into the north, 
Gat Child ZSoryce with me." 

le " O wae be to thee, lady Margaret," he said, 
Vp^ : J " And an ill death may you die ; 
•^v^J For if you had told me he was your son, 
He had ne'er been slain by me." 



■s=£ [a fragment, in imitation of the old Scottish 
=F=== Ballad. — By Kichakd G-all.] 

Ax' wlel they baitht her bluidy face, 

An' syne her bosom bare ; 
But 0, her saft an' bonnie skin 

Bespak' sum lady faire. 

Her blinkand e'e was schut in dethe, 

(Quhilk anes was fu' o' glie,) 
An' clay-cauld war her rosie lips, 

(Quhiik spak' sae tenderlie.) 

An' mony ane cam' thair, I trow, 

Quha did the tithings heir; 
An' aye as they luiket on her bonnie face, 

Wi' sorro' drapt a teir. 

" heavin ! it brekes my very hairt, 

A face sae sweit to see I 
Bat sure, sith nane a meith doth kna, 

0' fremit bluid she be." 



Sir Kenneth, knycht o' meikle fame, 

Luikt owre his castle wa' ; 
An' downe anethe the hingand heugh 

The gathert thrang he sa' : 

An ; lang he ferlit at the sicht, 

An* sair he raxit his ein ; 
Syne hastenit fra his castle hie, 

An' to the howe bedein. 

" Quhat meins this thrang ? Quhat meins 
this mane 

Amang baith yung an' aid ?" 
Syne he luikit at the deid lady, 

Lay on the yird sa cald. 

The warrior shuke — sair he shuke !— 
Furth sprang the glitterand teir : 

" Chryste ! O Chryste ! it is Helenore ! 
It is my dochter deir !" 



[gj&akom&jbh 3 

[From Buchan's Northern Ballads.] 

There ance iiv'd a king in fair Scotland 
King Malcolm called by name; 

"Whom ancient history gives record, 
For valour, worth, and fame. 

And it fell ance upon a day, 

The king sat down to dine ; 
And then he missed a favourite knight, 

Whose name was Sir Colvin. 

But out it speaks another knight, 

Ane o' Sir Colvin's kin : 
" He's lyin' in bed right sick in love, 

All for your daughter Jean." 

lt waes me," said the royal king, 

" I'm sorry for the same; 
She maun take bread and wine sae red, 

Give it to Sir Colvin." 

Then gently did she bear the bread, 
Her page did carry the wine ; 

And set a table at his bed, — 
** Sir Colvin, rise and dice*" 














m 



egg 



Sf 



Cfflfl 



WA 



rt O well love I the wine, lady, 
Come frae your lovely hand ; 

But better love I your fair body, 
Than all fair Scotland's strand." 

" O hold your tongue now, Sir Colvin, 

Let all your folly be ; 
My love must be by honour won, 

Or nane shall enjoy me. 

" But on .the head o' Elrick's hill, 
Near by yon sharp hawthorn, 

Where never a man with life e'er came 
Sin' our sweet Christ was born ; 

" ye'll gang there and walk a' night, 
And boldly blaw your born ; 

With honour that ye do return, 
Ye'll marry me the morn." 

Then up it raise him, Sir Colvin, 
And dress 'd in armour keen; 

And he is on to Elrick's hill, 
Without light o' the nieen. 

At midnight mark the meen upstarts, 
The knight walk'd up and down ; 

While loudest cracks o' thunder roar'd, 
Out ower the bent sae brown. 

Then by the twinkling of an e'e, 
He spied an armed knight ; 

A fair lady bearing his brand, 
Wi' torches burning bright. 

Then he cried high as he came nigh, 
" Coward, thief, I bid you flee ! 

There is not ane comes to this hill, 
But must, engage wi' me. 

" Ye'll best take road before I come, 
And best take foot and flee ; 

Here is a sword baith sharp and broad, 
Will quarter you in three." 

Sir Colvin said, " I'm not afraid 

Of any here I see ; 
You ha'e not ta'en your God before, 

Less dread ha'e i o' thee." 

Sir Colvin then he drew his sword, 

His foe he drew his brand ; 
And they fought there on Elrick's hill 

Till they were bluidy men. 




The first an' stroke ths knigbt he strike, 

Ga'e Colvin a slight wound ; 
The next an' stroke Lord Colvin strake, 

Brought's foe unto the ground. 

" I yield, I yield," the knight he said, 

" I fairly yield to thee; 
Nae ane came e'er to Elriek-hill 

E'er gain'd such victorie. 

" I and my forbears here did haunt 
Tnree hundred years and more; 

I'm safe to swear a solemn oath, 
We were never beat before." 

" An asking," said the lady gay, 

" An asking ye'll grant me." 
" Ask on, ask on," said Sir Colvin, 

" What may your asking be ?" 

" Ye'll gi'e me hame my wounded knight;. 

Let me fare on my way ; 
And I'se ne'er be seen on Elrick's hill, 

By night, nor yet by day. 
And to this place we'll come nae mair, 

Could we win safe away. 

" To trouble any Christian one 

Lives in the righteous law; 
We'll come nae mair unto this place, 

Could we win safe awa'." 

" O ye'se get hame your wounded knight, 

Ye shall not gang alane ; 
But I maun ha'e a word o' him, 

Before that we twa twine." 

Sir Colvin being a book-learn'd man, 

Sae gude in fencing tee ; 
He's drawn a stroke behind his hand, 

And followed in speedilie. 

Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colvin's drawn, 

And followed in speedilie ; 
The knight's brand, and sword hand, 

In the air he gar'd them flee. 

It flew sae high into the sky, 

And lighted on the ground ; 
The rings that were on these fingers, 

Were worth five hundred pound. 

Up he has ta'en that bluidy hand, 

Set it before the king ; 
And the morn it was Wednesday, 

When he married his daughter Jean, 



§ 




125 



m 






Young SUfcUi. 



[From Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs. 
— " In some late publications," says Mr Buehan, 
" I have seen fragments of this beautiful ballad 
under various names. — It is now for the first 
time given in a complete state. The ballad is, 
to all appearance, very old ; and agrees with the 
romantic history and times of Fergus II. It will 
be considered by all lovers of Scottish song, as a 
great acquisition to their store of traditionary 
poetry. The heroine lady Margaret, a king's j 
daughter, was stolen by her father's cup-bearer, 
who built for her a bower, in which she was so 
artfully confined, that no one could have dis- 
covered the place of her residence. In this 
bower, she bare to her adopted husband seven 
sons, the oldest of whom was the means of re- 
leasing her from her dreary abode. On his arrival 
at the court of his grandfather, whither he had 
gene to reconnitre, the old monarch at once per- 
ceived such a family likeness in the face of this 
■woodland boy, as made him inquire after the 
fate of his long lost daughter. She, with the 
rest of her sons, arrived at her father's palace; 
and, like the prodigal, or long lost son, wa3 
welcomed with joy and gladness. The ballad 
concludes with the pardon of Young Akin, — his 
reception at the king's court, and the baptism of 
the children."] 



Lady Margaret sits in her bower door 
Sewing at her silken seam ; 

She heard a note in Elmond's-wood, 
And wish'd she there had been. 



&V3\ She loot the seam fa' frae her side, 

And the needle to her tae ; 
And she is on to Elmond's-wood 
As fast as she could gae. 



She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, 
Nor broken a branch but ane, 

Till by it came a young hind chiel, 
Says, " Lady lat alane. 

" why pu' ye the nut, the nut, 
Or why brake ye the tree ; 

For I am forester o' this wood, 
Ye should spier leave at me ?" 



" I'll ask leave at nae living man, 

Nor yet will I at thee ; 
My father is king o'er a' this realm, 

This wood belongs to me." 

She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, 
Nor broken a branch but three, 

Till by it came him young Akin, 
And gar'd her let them be. 

The highest tree in Elmond's-wood, 

He's pu'd it by the reet ; 
And he has built for her a bower 

Near by a hallow seat. 

He's built a bower, made it secure 

Wi' carbuncle and stane ; 
Though travellers were never sae nigl 

Appearance it had nane. 



He's kept her there in Elmond's-wood, 7~_ 

For six lang years and one ; 
Till six pretty sons to him she bear, 

And the seventh she's brought home. 






It fell ance upon a day, 

This guid lord went from home ; 
And he is to the hunting gane, 

Took wi' him his eldest son. 

And when they were on a guid way, 
Wi' slowly pace did walk ; 

The boy's heart being something wae, 
He thus began to talk : — 

" A question I would ask, father, 
Gin ye wouldna angry be." 

** Say on, say on, my bonnie boy, 
Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me." 

" I see my mother's cheeks aye weet, 

I never can see them dry; 
And I wonder what aileth my mother 

To mourn continually." 



" Your mother was a king's daughter, 

Sprung frae a high degree; 
And she might ha'e wed some worthy prince. 

Had she not been stown by me ; 









" I was her father's cup-bearer, 
Just at that fatal time ; 

I catch'd her on a misty night, 
Whan summer was in prime ; 



m 



m 



" My luve to her was most sincere, 

Her luve was great for me, 
But when she hardships doth endure, 

Her folly she does see." 

*' I'll shoot the buntin' o' the bush, 

The linnet o' the tree, 
And bring them to my dear mither, 

See if she'll merrier be." 

It fell upo' another day, 

This guid lord he thought lang. 

And he is to the hunting gane, 
Took wi' him his dog and gun ; 

Wi' bow and arrow by his side, 

He's aff, single, alane ; 
And left his seven children to stay 

Wi' their mither at hame. 

"01 will tell to you, mither, 

Gin ye wadna angry be." 
" Speak on, speak on, my little wee bey, 

Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me." 

" As we came frae the hynd hunting, 

We heard fine music ring." 
" My blessings on you, my bonnie boy, 

I wish I'd been there my lane." 

He's ta'en his mither by the hand, 

His six brothers also, 
And they are on through Elmond's-wood, 

As fast as they could go ; 

They wistna weel where they were gaen, 
Wi' the stratlins o' their feet ; 

They wistna weel where they were gaen 
Till at her father's yate. 

" I ha'e nae money in my pocket, 

But royal rings ha'e three ; 
I'll gi'e them you, my little young sou, 

And ye'll walk there for me ; 

w Ye'll gi'e the first to the proud porter, 

And he will let you in ; 
Ye'll gi'e the next to the butler boy, 

And he will show you ben ; 

" Ye'll gi'e the third to the minstrel 

That plays before the king ; 
He'll play success to the bonnie boy, 

Came through the wood him lane." 



He ga'e the first to the proud porter, 
And he open'd an' let him in ; 

He ga'e the next to the butler boy, 
And he has shown him ben ; 

He ga'e the third to the minstrel 
That play'd before the king ; 

And he play'd success to the bonnie boy 
Came through the wood him lane. 

Now when he came before the king. 

Fell low down on his knee ; 
The king he turned round about, 

And the saut tear blinded his e'e. 

"' Win up, win up, my bonnie boy, 

Gang frae my companie ; 
Ye look sae like my dear daughter, 

My heart will birst in three." 

" If I look like your dear daughter, 

A wonder it is none ; 
If I look like your dear daughter,— 

I am her eldest son." 

%t Will ye tell me, ye little wee boy, 
Where may my Margaret be ?" 

<c She's just now standing at your yates, 
And my six brothers her wi'." 

" where are all my porter boys 

That I pay meat and fee, 
To open my yates baith wide and braid ? 

Let her come in to me.' 

When she came in before the king, 

Fell low down on her knee : 
" Win up, win up, my daughter dear, 

This day ye'll dine wi* me." 

" Ae bit I canno' eat, father, 

Nor ae drop can I drink, 
Till I see my mither and sister dear, 

For lang for them I think." 

When she came before the queen, 

Fell low down on her knee : 
" Win up, win up, my daughter deat^ 

This day ye'se dine wi' me." 

" Ae bit I canno' eat, mither, 

Nor ae drop can I drink, 
Until I see my dear sister, 

For lang for her I think." 



\ M 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 




^=S" When that these two sisters met, 

W "cO She hail'd her courteouslie : 

J5^>^ . " Come ben, come ben, my sister dear, 
This day ye'se dine wi' me." 

- ^-^ \ " Ae bit I canno' eat, sister, 

rjl== A Nor ae drop can I drink, 

Y^SP\ Until I see my dear husband, 

L/^g For lang for him I think." 

PjgTA " where are all my rangers bold, 

That I pay meat and fee, 
^s~^3 To search the forest far an' wide, 

To bring Akin to me ?" 

Out it speaks the little wee boy, — 
f ^fjy « 2fa, na, this maunna be ; 

y^P\ Without ye grant a free pardon, 

I hope ye'll nae him see.'' 

=c " here I grant a free pardon, 

Well seal'd by my own nan '; 
^t^3> *^ e ma ^ ma ^ e search for young Akin, 

As soon as ever you can." 

PEG 

VJ^V They search'd the country wide and braid, 

<*S=rO\ The forest far and near ; 

And found, him into Elmond's-wood, 
Tearing his yellow hair. 

/jg: \ " Win up, win up, now young Akin, 

\r ^=ks Win up and boun wi" me ; 

l ^^^j We're messengers come from the court, 

The king wants you to see." 

* -JL c\ " O let him take frae me my head, 

^|_ Or hang me on a tree; 

W.^J For since I've last my dear lady, 

Life's no pleasure to me." 

' d\ •' Your head will nae be touch' d, Akin, 

Nor hang'd upon a tree ; 
'_Z = ZJ Your lady's in her father's court, 

And all he wants is thee." 

LjP-.-S When he came in before the king, 

Fell low down on his knee. 
" Win up, win up, now young Akin, 
This day ye'se dine wi' me." 

( %zJ*\ But as they were at dinner set, 

The boy asked a boun ; 
W — " I wish we were in the good church, 

For to get Christendoun ; 



" We ha'e lived in guid green wood 

This seven years and ane; 
But a' this time since e'er I mind, 

Was never a «hurch within." 

" Your asking's nae sae great, my boy, 

But granted it shall be ; 
This day to guid church ye shall gang, 

And your mither shall gang you wi'." 

When into the guid church she came, 

She at the door did stan' ; 
She was sae sair sunk down wi' shame, 

She couldna come farer ben. 

Then out it speaks the parish priest, 
And a sweet smile ga'e he ; — 

" Come ben, come ben, my lily flower. 
Present your babes to me." 

Charles, Vincent, Sam, and Dick, 
And likewise James and John ; 

They call'd the eldest Young Akin, 
Which was his father's name. 

Then they staid in the royal court, 
And liv'd wi* mirth and glee ; 

And when her father was deceas'd, 
Heir of the crown was she. 



3E®?st t§$ M^ artto SEJUe 



[First published in the Minstrelsy of the \3l*jo 

Scottish Border.—" This legendary tale," saysr *?T^4 

Sir Walter, " is given chiefly from Mrs Brown's ( ^b^a 

MS. Accordingly many of the rhymes arise jg§El 

from the northern mode of pronunciation ; as j=.=£ 

dee for do, and the like. — Perhaps the ballad T > 

may have originally related to the history of the )*°^S 

celebrated Robin Hood, as mention is made of I V^< 
Barnisdale, his favourite abode."] 

Rosr the Red, and White Lilly, 

Their mother dear was dead : 

And their father has married an ill wo- \.^. j 

Wished them twa little guid. 




mwrn^ 



c& 






But she naa twa as gallant sons 

As ever brake man's bread ; 
And the tane o' them lo'ed her, White Lilly, 

And the tother Rose the Red. 

O bigged ha'e they a bigly hour, 

Fast by the roaring strand ; 
And there was mair mirth in the ladyes' 

Nor in a' their father's land. [bour, 

But out and spak' their step-mother, 

As she stood a little forebye — 
" I hope to live and play the prank, 

Sail gar your loud sang lie." 

She's call'd upon her eldest son ; 

" Cum here, my son, to me : 
It fears me sair, my bauld Arthur, 

That ye maun sail the sea." 

" Gin sae it maun be, my deir mother, 

Your bidding 1 maun dee ; 
But, be never waur to Rose the Red, 

Than ye ha'e been to me." 

She's called upon her youngest son ; 

" Cum here, my son, to me : 
It fears me sair, my Brown Robin, 

That ye maun sail the sea." 

" Grin it fear ye sair, my mother deir, 

Your bidding I sail dee ; 
But, be never waur to White Lilly, 

Than ye ha'e been to me." 

" Now haud your tongues, ye foolish boys ! 

For small sail be their part ; 
They ne'er again sail see your face. 

Gin their very hearts suld break." 

Sae bauld Arthur's gane to our king's court, 

His hie chamberlain to be ; 
But Brown Robin, he has slain a knight, 

And to grene-wood he did flee. 

When Rose the Red, and White Lilly, 

Saw their twa loves were gane, 
Sune did they drop the loud loud sang, 

Took up the still mourning. 

And out then spake her White Lilly ; 

" My sister, we'll be gane : 
Why suld we stay in Barnisdale, 

To mourn our bour within ?" 



O cutted ha'e they their green cloathing, 

A little abune their knee ; 
And sae ha'e they their yellow hair, 

A little abune their bree. 

And left ha'e they that bonnie bour, 

To cross the raging sea ; 
And they ha'e ta'en to a holy chapel, 

Was christened by Our Ladye. 

And they ha'e changed their twa names, 

Sae far frae ony toun ; 
And the tane o' them's hight Sweet Willie, 

And the tother's Rouge the Rounde. 

Between the twa a promise is, 
And they ha'e sworn it to fulfil ; 

Whenever the tane blew a bugle-horn, 
The tother suld cum her till. 

Sweet Willie's gane to the king's, court, 

Her true love for to see ; 
And Rouge the Rounde to gude grene-wood, 

Brown Robin's man to be. 

O it fell anes, upon a time, 

They putted at the stane ; 
And seven foot ayont them a', 

Brown Robin's gar'd it gang. 

She lifted the heavy putting-stane, 

And gave a sad " O hon !" 
Then out bespake him, Brown Robin, 

'* But that's a woman's moan !" 

" O kent ye by my rosy lips ? 

Or by my yellow hair ; 
Or kent ye by my milk-white breast, 

Ye never yet saw bare ?" 

" I kent na by your rosy lips, 

Nor by your yellow hair ; 
But, cum to your bour whaever likes, 

They'll find a ladye there." 

" O gin ye come my bour within, 
Through fraud, deceit, or guile, 

Wi' this same brand, that's in my hand, 
I vow I will thee kill." 



PJ 



' Yet durst I cum into your bour. 

And ask nae leave," quoth he ; 
: * And wi' this same brand, that's in my hand, 

Wave danger back on thee." ^ * 



About the dead hour o' the night, 

The ladye's bour was broken ; 
And, about the first hour o' the day, 

The fair knave bairn was gotten. 

When days were gane and months were 
The lad ye was sad and wan ; [come, 

And aye she cried for a bour woman, 
For to wait her upon. 

Then up and spake him, Brown Robin, 
*' And what needs this ?" quoth he; 

" Or what can woman do for you, 
That canna be done by me ?" 

" 'Twas never my mother's fashion," she said, 

" Nor shall it e'er be mine, 
That belted knights should e'er remain 

While ladyes dree'd their pain. 

" But gin ye take that bugle-horn, 

And wind a blast tae shrill, 
I ha'e a brother in yonder court 

Will come me quickly till." 

" gin ye ha'e a brother on earth, 

That ye lo'e mair than me, 
Ye may blow the horn yoursel'," he says, 

" For a blast I winna gi'e." 

She's ta'en the bugle in her hand, 
And blawn baith loud and shrill ; 

Sweet William started at the sound, 
And came her quickly till. 

O up and starts him, Brown Robin, 

And swore by Our Ladye, 
" No man shall come into this bour, 

But first maun fight wi' me." 

they ha'e fought the wood within, 

Till the sun was going down ; 
And drops o' blood, frae Rose the Red, 

Came pouring to the ground. 

She leant her back against an aik, 

Said, — " Robin, let me be : 
For it is a ladye, bred and born, 

That has fought this day wi' thee." 

O seven foot he started back, 

Cried — " Alas and woe is me ! 
For I wished never, in all my life, 

A woman's bluid to see : 



'' And that all for the knightly vow 

I swore by Our Ladye; 
But mair for the sake o' ae fair maid, 

Whose name is White Lilly." 

Then out and spake her, Rouge the Rounde, 

And leugh right heartilie, 
" She has been wi' ye this year and mair, 

Though ye wistna it was she." 



Now word has gane through all the land, 

Before a month was gane, 
That a forester's page in gude grene-wood, 

Had born a bonnie son. 

The marvel gaed to the king's court, 

And to the king himsel' ; 
" Now, by my fae," the king did say, 

" The like was never heard tell !'* 

Then out then spake him, Bauld Arthur, 
And laugh'd right loud and hie — 

" I trow some may has play'd the lown, 
And fled her ain countrie." 

" Bring me my steid !" the king gan say; 

My boAV and arrows keen ; 
And I'll gae hunt in yonder wood, 

And see what's to be seen." 

" Gin it please your grace," quoth Bauld Ar- 
" My liege I'll gang you wi', [thur, 

And see gin I can meet a bonnie page, 
That's stray 'd awa' frae me." 

And they ha'e chased in gude grene-wood, 

The buck but and the rae, 
Till they drew near Brown Robin's bour, 

About the close o' day. 

Then out and spake the king himsel', 

Says — " A rthur, look and see, 
Gin yon be not your favourite page, 

That leans against yon tree." 

O Arthur's ta'en a bugle-horn, 

And blawn a blast sae shrill; 
Sweet Willie started to her feet, 

And ran him quickly till. 

" wanted ye your meat, Willie, 

Or wanted ye your fee ? 
Or gat ye e'er an angry word, 

That ye ran awa' frae me ?" 



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130 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" I wanted nought, my master dear; 

To me ye aye was good : 
I cam' to see my ae brother, 

That wons in this grene-wood." 

Then out bespake the king again, — 

" My boy, now tell to me, 
"Who dwells into yon bigly bour, 

Beneath yon green aik tree ?" 

" O pardon me," said Sweet Willie, 

c ' My liege, I darena tell ; 
And gang nae near yon outlaw's bour 

For fear they suld ye kill." 

" haud your tongue, my bonnie boy ! 

Tor I winna be said nay; 
But I will gang yon bour within, 

Betide me weal or wae." 

They have lighted frae their milk-white steids, 

And saftlie entered in ; 
And there they saw her, White Lilly, 

Nursing her bonnie young son. 

" Now, by the mass," the king he said, 

" This is a comely sight; 
I trow, instead of a forester's man, 

This is a lady bright!" 

O out and spake her, Rose the Red, 

And fell low on her knee: — 
" pardon us, my gracious liege, 

And our story I'll tell thee. 

" Our father is a wealthy lord, 

Lives into Barnisdale; 
But we had a wicked step-mother, 

That wrought us meikle bale. 

" Yet had she twa as fu' fair sons, 

As e'er the sun did see; 
And the tane o' them lo'ed my sister deir, 

And the tother said he lo'cd me." 

Then out and cried him, Bauld Arthur, 

As by the king he stood, — 
" Now, by the faith of my body, 

This suld be Rose the Red 1" 



The king has sent for robes o' green, 

And girdles o' shining gold; 
Andsae sune have the ladyes busked them- 

Sae glorious to behold. 



Then in and came him, Brown Robin, 

Frae hunting o' the king's deer, 
But when he saw the king himsel', 

He started back for fear. 

The king has ta'en Robin by the hand, 

And bade him nothing dread, 
But quit for aye the gude grene-wood, 

And come to the court wi' speed. 

The king has ta'en White Lilly's son, 

A nd set him on his knee ; 
Says, " Gin ye live to wield a brand, 

My bowman thou sail be." 

Then they have ta'en them to the holy chapelle, 

And there had fair wedding ; 
And when they cam' to the king's court, 

For joy the bells did ring. 



ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILL1E. 

[The following version of " Rose the Red and 
White Lilly" is from Buchan's Ballads of the 
North. It differs materially from the one given 
in Scott's Minstrelsy.] 

Now word is gane through a' the land, 

Gude seal that it sae spread ! 
To Rose the Red and White Lillic, 

Their mither dear was dead. 

Their father's married a bauld woman, 

And brought her ower the sea; 
Twa sprightly youths, her ain young sons, 

Intill her companie. 

They fix'd their eyes on those ladies. 

On shipboard as they stood, 
And sware, if ever they wan to land, 

These ladies they would wed. 

But thei - e was nae a quarter past, 

A quarter past but three, 
Till these young luvers a' were fond 

O' others companie. 



The knights they harped i' their bower, 

The ladies sew'd and sang ; 
There was mair mirth in that chamer 
[selves, O; Than a' their father's Ian'. 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Vol 



f 



Then out it spak' their step-mither, 

At the stair-foot stood she; 
" I'm plagued wi' your troublesome noise, 

What makes your melodie ? 

" O Rose the Red, ye sing too loud, 
"While Liilie your voice is Strang ; 

But gin I live and brook my life, 
I'se gar you change your sang." 

" We maunna change our loud, loud song, 

For nae duke's son ye '11 bear; 
We winna change our loud, loud song, 

But aye we'll sing the mair. 

" We never sung the sang, mither, 

But we'll sing ower again ; 
We'll take our harps into our hands, 

And we'll harp, and we'll sing." 

She's call'd upon her twa young sons, 

Says, " Boun' ye for the sea ; 
Let Rose the Red, and White Liilie, 

Stay in their bower wi* me." 

tf God forbid," said her eldest son, 

" Nor lat it ever be, 
Unless ye were as kind to our Iuves 

As gin Ave were them wi'." 

" Yet never the less, my pretty sons, 

Ye'll boun' you for the faem ; 
Let Rose the Red, and White Liilie, 

Stay in their bowers at hanie." 

" when wi' you we came alang, 

We felt the stormy sea ; 
And where we go, ye ne'er shall know, 

Nor shall be known by thee." 

Then wi' her harsh and boisterous word, 

She forc'd these lads away ; 
While Rose the Red and White Liilie 

Still in their bowers did stay. 

But there was not a quarter past, 

A quarter past but ane ; 
Till Rose the Red in rags she gaed, 

White Lillie's claithing grew thin. 

Wi' bitter usage every day, 
The ladies they thought lang; 

" Ohjn, alas ! said Rose the Red, 
She's gar'd us change our sang. 



" But we will change our own fu' names, 
And we'll gang frae the town ; 

Frae Rose the Red and White Liilie, 
To Nicholas and Roger Brown. 

" And we will cut our green claithing 

A little aboon our knee ; 
And we will on to gude greenwood, 

Twa bauld bowmen to be." 

w Ohon, alas !" said White Liilie, 

" My fingers are but sma' ; 
And though my hands would wield the bow, 

They winna yield at a'." 

" had your tongue now, White Liilie, 

And let these fears a' be ; 
There's naething that ye're awkward in, 

But I will learn thee." 

Then they are on to gude greenwood 

As fast as gang could they ; 
then they spied him, Robin Hood, 

Below a green aik tree. 

" Gude day, gude day, kind sir," they said. 

" God make you safe and free." 
" Gude day, gude day," said Robin Hood, 

" What is your wills wi' me?" 

" Lo here we are, twa banish'd knights, 

Come frae our native hame ; 
We're come to crave o' thee service, 

Our king will gi'e us nane." 

" If ye be twa young banish'd knights, 

Tell me frae what countrie;" 
" Frae Anster town into Fifeshire, 

Ye know it as well as we." 

•* If a' be true that ye ha'e said, 

And tauld just now to me ; 
Ye're welcome, welcome, every one, 

Your master I will be. 

*' Nov/ ye shall eat as I do eat, 

And lye as I do lye ; 
Ye salna wear nae waur claithing 

Nor my young men and I." 

Then they went to a ruinous house, 

And there they enter'd in ; 
And Nicholas fed wi' Robin Hood, 

And R> ger wi' little John. 



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But it fell ance upon a day, 

They were at the putting- stane , 

When Rose the Red she view'd them a', 
As they stood on the green. 

She hit the stane then wi' her foot, 

And kep'd it wi' her knee ; 
And spaces three aboon them a', 

I wyte she gar'd it flee. 

She set her back then to a tree, 

And ga'e a loud Ohon J 
A lad spak' in the companie, 

" 1 hear a woman's moan." 

"How know you that, young man," she s; 

" How know you that o' me ? 
Did e'er ye see me in that place, 

A'e foot my ground to flee ? 

" Or know ye by my cherry cheeks, 

Or by my yellow hair ? 
Or by the paps on my breast bane, 

Ye never saw them bare." 

" I know not by your cherry cheeks, 

Nor by your yellow hair; 
But I know by your milk-white chin, 

On it there grows nae hair. 

" I never saw you in that cause 

A'e foot your ground to flee ; 
I've seen you stan' wi' sword in han' 

'Mang men's blood to the knee. 

" But if I come your bower within, 

By night, or yet by day ; 
I shall know, before I go, 

If ye be man or may." 

" if you come my bower within, 

By night, or yet by day ; 
As soon's I draw my trusty brand, 

Nae lang ye'll wi' me stay." 

But he is haunted to her bower, 

Her bigly bower o' stane, 
Till he has got her big wi' bairn, 

And near sax months she's gane. 

When three mair months were come and 
They gae'd to hunt the hynde ; [gane, 

She wont to be the foremost ane, 
But now stay'd far behynd. 



Her luver looks her in the face, 

And thus to her said he ; 
" 1 think your cheeks are pale and wan, 

Pray, what gaes warst wi' thee ? 

" O want ye roses to your breast, 

Or ribbons to your sheen ? 
Or want ye as muckle o' dear bought luve 

As your heart can conteen ?" 

"I want nae roses to my breast, 

Nae ribbons to my sheen ; 
Nor want I as muckle dear bought luve 

As my heart can conteen. 

"I'd rather ha'e a fire behynd, 

Anither me before ; 
A gude midwife at my right side, 

Till my young babe be bore." 

" I'll kindle a fire wi' a flint stane, 

Bring wine in a horn green ; 
I'll be midwife at your right side, 

Till your young babe be born." 

" That was ne'er my mither's custom, 

Forbid that it be mine ! 
A knight stan' by a lady bright, 

Whan she drees a' her pine. 

" There is a knight in gude greenwood, 

If that he kent o' me ; 
Through stock and stane, and the hawthorn, 

Sae soon's he would come me tee." 

" If there be a knight in gude greenwood 

Ye like better than me ; 
If ance he come your bower within, 

Ane o' us twa shall dee." 

She set a horn to her mouth, 

And she blew loud and shrill ; 
Through stock and stane, and the hawthorn, 

Brave Roger came her till. 

" Wha's here sae bauld," the youth replied, 

" Thus to encroach on me ?" 
" O here am 1," the knight replied, 

" Ha'e as much right as thee." 

Then they fought up the gude greenwood, 

Sae did they down the plain ; 
They niddart ither wi' lang braid swordfe, 

Till they were bleedy men. 



Then out it spak' the sick woman, 
Sat under the greenwood tree ; 

" O had your han', young man," she said, 
u She's a woman as well as me." 

Then out it speaks anither youth, 

Amang the companie ; 
" Grin I had kent what I ken now, 

'Tis for her I would dee." 

" O wae mat worth you, Rose the Red, 

An ill death mat ye dee ! 
Although ye tauld upo' yoursel', 

Ye might ha'e heal'd on me." 

" for her sake I was content, 

For to gae ower the sea ; 
For her I left my mither's ha*, 

Though she proves fause to me." 

But whan these lovers were made known, 

They sung right joyfullie ; 
Nae blyther was the nightingale, 

Nor bird that sat on tree. 

Now they ha'e married these ladies, 
Brought them to bower an ha', 

And now a happy life they lead, 
I wish sae may we a'. 



THE WEDDING OF BOBIN HOOD AND 
LITTLE JOHN. 

[This appears to be merely an imperfect ver- 
sion of the previous ballad. It is given in Mr 
Kinloch's collection. — *' The fame," says Mr 
Kinloch, "of bold Robin Hood, {to whom tradi- 
tion has assigned the title of the Earl of Hunt- 
ington), and his bon camarado Little John, was 
not confined to England, but was well known in 
Scotland, where their gallant exploits are yet 
remembered, and have become still more fami- 
liar since the publication of 'Ivanhoe;' in 
" which romance 

' Robin Hood and his merry men* 

sustain a very prominent part. 

" Robin Hood was, anciently, celebrated in 

Scotland by an annual play or festival ; and the 

ty^z. following extract, while it shows the estimation 



in which this festival was regarded by the popu- 
lace, displays at the same time their lawless con- 
duct, and the weakness of the civil power, in the 
city of Edinburgh in the fourteenth century. — 
' The game of Robin Hood was celebrated in the 
month of May. The populace assembled pre- 
vious to the celebration of this festival, and chose 
some respectable member of the corporation to 
officiate in the character of Robin Hood, and 
another in that of Little John, his squire. Upon 
the day appointed, which was a Sunday or a 
holiday, the people assembled in military array, 
and went to some adjoining field, where, either 
as actors or spectators, the whole inhabitants of 
the respective towns were convened. In this 
field they probably amused themselves with a 
representation of Robin Hood's predatory ex- 
ploits, or of his encounters with the officers of 
justice. As numerous meetings for disorderly 
mirth are apt to engender tumult, when the 
minds of the people came to be agitated with re- 
ligious controversy, it was found necessary to 
repress the game of Robin Hood by public 
statute. The populace were by no means willing 
to relinquish their favourite amusement. Year 
after year the magistrates of Edinburgh were 
obliged to exert their authority in repressing 
this game, often ineffectually. In the year 1561, 
the mob were so enraged in being disappointed 
in making a Robin Hood, that they rose in 
mutiny, seized on the city gates, committed 
robberies iipon strangers ; and one of the ring- 
leaders, being condemned by the magistrates to 
be hanged, the mob forced open the jail, set at 
liberty the criminal and all the prisoners, and 
broke in pieces the gibbet erected at the cross for 
executing the malefactor. They next assaulted 
the magistrates, who were sitting in the council- 
chamber, and who fled to the tolbooth for shel- 
ter, where the mob attacked them, battering 
the doors, and pouring stones through the win- 
dows. Application was made to the deacons of the 
corporations to appease the tumult. Remaining, 
however, unconcerned spectators, they made this 
answer : — They will be magistrates alone ; let them 
rule the multitude alone. The magistrates were 
kept in confinement till they made proclamation 
be published, offering indemnity to the rioters 
upon laying down their arms. Still, however, 
so late as the year 1592, we find the General As- 
sembly complaining of the profanation of the 
Sabbath, by making of Robin Hood Plays.' — 
Arnot's Hist, of Edin. ch. II. 
" Among all the numerous ballads and tales, 



& 


















<JER ^f-Os^ 1 



^^L^ 








SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






which have been composed on these celebrated & 
outlaws, the editor has not discovered that the 
present one has ever been published. The edi- 
tor observes however, a ballad in the ' Border 
Minstrelsy,' under the title of ' Rose the Bed 
and White Lilly,' which is evidently founded on 
the same story. The editor of that work is cor- 
rect in his conjecture, that it related to Robin 
Hood. One might fancy a slight resemblance 
between the meeting of Robin Hood with the 
heroines of this ballad, and his meeting with 
Clorinda, or ' Maid Marian,' as detailed in f Ro- 
bin Hood's birth, breeding, valour and mar- 
riage,' as published by Mr Ritson, Part II. "J 



The king has wedded an ill woman, 

Into some foreign land; — 
His daughters twa, that stood in awe, 

They bravely sat and sang. 

Then in be-came their step-mother, 

Sae stately steppin' ben ; — 
" O gin 1 live and bruik my life, 

I'll gar ye change your tune." 

" we sang ne'er that sang, ladle, 

But we will sing again ; 
And ye ne'er bore that son, ladle, 

We wad lay our love on. 

te But we will cow our yellow locks, 

A little abune our bree, 
And we will on to gude greenwud, 

And serve for meat and fee. 

" And we will kilt our gay claithing 

A little below the knee ; 
And we will on to gude greenwud, 

Gif Robin Hood we see. 

'* And we will change our ain twa names, 
Whan we gae frae the toun, — 

The tane we will call Nicholas, 
The tither Rogee Roun." 



Then they ha'e cow'd their yellow lock3, 

A little abune their bree ; 
And they are on to gude greenwud, 

To serve for meat and fee. 

And they ha'e kilt their gay claithing 

A little below their knee, 
And they are on to gude greenwud, 

Gif Robin Hood they see. 




And they ha'e chang'd their ain twa names, 
Whan they gaed frae the toun ; — 

The tane they've called Nicholas, 
The tither Rogee Roun. 

And they ha'e staid in gude greenwud, 
And never a day thoucht lang, 

Till it fell ance upon a day, 
That Rogee sang a sang. 

" Whan we were in our father's bouer, 

We sew'd the silken seam ; 
But now we walk the gude greenwud, 

And bear anither name. 

" When we were in our father's ha', 

We wore the beaten gold ; 
But now we wear the shield sae sharp,-— 

Alas ! we'll die with cold !" 

Then up bespak' him Robin Hood; 

As he to them di-ew near, — 
"Instead of boys to carry the bow, 

Two ladies we've got here !" 

So they had not been in gude greenwud, 

A twalmonth and a day, 
Till Rogee Roun was as big wi' bairn, 

As onie lady could gae. 

" wae be to my step-mother, 
That garr'd me leave my name, 

For I'm wi' bairn to Robin Hood, 
And near nine months is gane. 

" wha will be my bouer-woman — 

Na bouer-woman is here ! 
O wha will be my bouer-w T oman, 

Whan that sad time draws near !" 

The tane was wedded to Robin Hood, 
And the tither to Little John ; — 

And it was a' owing to their step-mother 
That garr'd them leave their name. 



?£OT. 



[" Though Hynd Horn possess no claims upon 
the reader's attention on account of its poetry, 
yet it is highly valuable as illustrative of the his- 
tory of romantic ballad. In fact, it is nothing 









-■.;, _- v- ..-.'i .j^y^ 







SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



135 



else than a portion of the ancient English metri-$: 
eal romance of ' Ivyng Horn,' which some bene- 
volent pen, peradventure, ' for luf of the lewed 
man,- hath stripped of its ' quainte Inglis,' and 
given — 



Of this the reader will be at once convinced, if 
he compares it with the romance alluded to, or 
rather with the fragment of the one preserved in 
the Auchinleck MS., entitled, 'Home Childe 
and Maiden Eiminild,' both of which ancient 
poems are to be found in Ritson's Metrical Ro- 
mances. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to remind 
the reader, that Hend or Hynd means 'cour- 
teous, kind, affable,' &c, an epithet, which, we 
doubt not, the hero of the ballad was fully en- 
titled to assume." — Motherwell.] 

Near Edinburgh was a young child born, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

And his name it was called young Hynd Horn, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

Seven lang years he served the king, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

And it's a' for the sake of his dochter Jean, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

The king an angry man was he, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

He sent young Hynd Horn to the sea, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" Oh ! I never saw my love before, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

Till I saw her through an augre bore, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" And she gave to me a gay gold ring, 
AVith a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

With three shining diamonds set therein, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

"And I gave to her a silver wand, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

With three singing laverocks set thereon, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" What if those diamonds lose their hue ? 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
Just w r hen my love begins for to rue, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 



"For when your ring turns pale and wan, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

Then I'm in love with another man, 
And the birk and the brume blcoms bonnie." 

He's left the land, and he's gone to the sea, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And he's stayed there seven years and a day, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

Seven lang years he has been on the sea, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

And Hynd Horn has looked how his ring may be, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

But when he looked this ring upon, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

The shining diamonds were both pale and wan, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

Oh ! the ring it was both black and blue, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

And she's either dead, or she's married, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

He's left the seas, and he's come to the land, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And the first he met was an auld beggar man, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" What news ? what news ? my silly auld man ? 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
For it's seven years since I have seen land, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

"What news? what news ? thou auld beggar man? 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
What news ? what news ? by sea or land ? 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie-" 

"No news at all," said the auld beggar man, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

But there is a wedding in the king's hall, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" There is a lung's dochter in the west, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And she has been married thir nine nights past, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

"Into the bridebed she winna gang, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

Till she hears tell of her ain Hynd Horn, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 







: 















- 



" Wilt thou give to me thy begging coat, 
Witn a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And I'll give to thee my scarlet cloak, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

*' Wilt thou give to me thy begging staff, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And I'll give to thee my good gray steed, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

The auld beggar man cast off his coat, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And he's ta'en up the scarlet cloak, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

The auld beggar man threw down his staff, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And he is mounted the good gray steed, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

The auld beggar man was bound for the mill, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

But young Hynd Horn for the king's hall, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

The auld beggar man was bound for to ride, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

But young Hynd Horn was bound for the bride, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

When he came to the king's gate, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

Ha asked a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

^hese news unto the bonnie bride came, 
With "a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

That at the yett there stands an auld man, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" There stands an auld man at the king's gate, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

He asketh a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

" I'll go through nine fires so hot, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; [sake, 
But I'll give him a drink for young Hynd Horn's 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

She went to the gate where the auld man did 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, [stand, 

And she gave him a drink out of her own hand, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. r ^ 






She gave him a cup out of her own hand, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

He drunk out the drink, and dropt in the ring, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" Got thou it by sea, or got thou it by land ? 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
Or got thou it off a dead man's hand ? 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

" I got it not by sea, but I got it by land, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

For I got it out of thine own hand, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

" I'll cast off my gowns of brown, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And I'll follow thee from town to town, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" I'll cast off my gowns of red, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And along with thee I'll beg my bread, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 



" Thou need not cast off thy gowns of brown, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

For I can make thee lady of many a town, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" Thou need not cast off thy gowns of red, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

For I can maintain thee with both wine and bread, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

The bridegroom thought he had the bonnie bride 
wed, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
But young Hynd Horn took the bride to the bed, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 




Xl 



num. 



[From Mr Kinloch's Collection. — "Drum, the 
property of the ancient and once powerful 
family of Irwin or Irvine, is situated in the 
parish of Drumoak, in Aberdeenshire. Thi9 
ballad was composed on the marriage of Alex- 
ander Irvine of Drum to his second wife, Mar- 
garet Coutts, a woman of inferior birth and 



i 










SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



137 



manners, which step gave great offence to his 1* 
relations. He had previously, in 1643, married 
Mary, fourth daughter of George, second Mar- 
quis of Huntly."] 

The Laird o' Drum is a --wooing gane, 

It was on a morning early, 
And he has fawn in wi' a bonnie may 

A -shearing at her barley. 

" 3Iy bonnie may, my weel-feur'd may, 

will you fancy me, O ; 

And gae and be the lady o' Drum, 
And lat your shearing abee, O." 

" It's I canna fancy thee, kind sir, 

1 winna fancy thee, O, 

I winna gae and be lady o' Drum, 
And lat my shearing abee, O. 

" But set your love on anither, kind sir, 

Set it not on me, O, 
For I am not fit to be your bride, 

And your hure I'll never be, 0. 

" My father he is a shepherd mean, 

Keeps sheep on yonder hill, 0, 
And ye may gae and speir at him, 

For I am at his will 0." 

Drum is to her father gane, 

Keeping his sheep on yon hill, ; 

And he has gotten his consent 
That the may was at his will, O. 

" But my dochter can neither read nor write, 
She was ne'er brought up at scheel, , 

But weel can she milk cow and ewe, 
And mak' a kebbuck weel, 0. 

'* She'll win in your barn at bear- seed time, 

Cast out your muck at Tule, 0, 
She'll saddle your steed in time o' need, 

And draw aff your boots hersel', 0." 

" Have not I no clergymen ? 

Pay I no clergy fee, ? 
I'll scheel her as I think fit, 

And as I think weel to be, 0. 

*' I'll learn your lassie to read and write, 
And I'll put her to the scheel, O ; 

She'll neither need to saddle my steed, 
If or draw aff my boots hersel', 0. 



"But wha will bake my bridal bread, 

Or brew my bridal ale, ; 
And wha will welcome my bonnie bride, 

Is mair than 1 can tell, 0." 

Drum is to the hielands gane, 

For to mak' a' ready, 
And a' the gentry round about, 

Cried, " Yonder's Drum and his lady i 

"Peggy Coutts is a very bonnie bride, 

And Drum is a wealthy laddie, 
But he micht ha'e chosen a hier match, 

Than onie shepherd's lassie." 

Then up bespak' his brither John, 

Says, " Ye've deen us meikle wrang, 0, 

Ye've married een below our degree, 
Alake to a' our kin', 0." 

** Hold your tongue, my brither John, 

I have deen you na wrang, 0, 
For I've married een to wirk and win, 

And ye've married een to spend, 0. 

" The first time that I had a wife, 
She was far abeen my degree, O ; 

I durst na come in her presence, 
But wi' my hat upo' my knee, O. 

" The first wife that I did wed, 

She was far abeen my degree, O, 
She wadna ha'e walk'cl to the yetts o* Drum 

" But an she was ador'd for as much gold 

As Peggy's for beautie, 0, 
She micht walk to the yetts o' Drum 

Amang gueed companie, O." 

There war four-and-twenty gentlemen 

Stood at the yetts o» Drum, O, 
There was na ane amang them a' 

That welcom'd his lady in, O. 

He has tane her by the milk-white hand, 

And led her in himsel', O, 
And in through ha's, and in through boners,— 

" And ye're welcome, lady o' Drum, 0." 

Thrice he kissed her cherry cheek, 
And thrice her cherry chin, ; 

And twenty times her comely mou', — 
" And ye're welcome, lady o' Drum, O. 



But the pearls abeen her bree, 0. 








Wo& 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 









" Ye sail be cook in my kitchen, 

Butler in my ha', O ; 
Ye sail be lady in my command, 

Whan I ride far awa', 0." 

" But I told ye afore we war wed, 

I was owre low for thee, ; 
But now we are wed, and in ae bed laid, 

And ye maun be content wi' me, : 

" For an I war dead, and ye war dead, 

And baith in ae grave laid, O, 
And ye and I war tane up again, [0 ?" 

Wha could distan your mouls frae mine, 



[This ballad relates very faithfully and cir- 
cumstantially the cause and issue of this battle, 
fought in 1411, between Donald of the Isles and 
the Earl of Marr, nephew to the Duke of Al- 
bany, Regent of Scotland during the captivity of 
James I. — In the " Complaynt of Scotland," 
published in 1549, a ballad, with this title, is 
mentioned as being then popular, but the pre- 
sent was first published by Allan Ramsay, and 
in all likelihood written by him.] 

Frae Dunideir as I cam' throuch, 

Doun by the hill of Banochie, 
Allangst the lands of Garioch, 

Grit pitie was to heir and se, 

The noys and dulesum hermonie, 
That evir that dreiry day did daw, 

Cryand the corynoch on hie, 
" Alas, alas, for the Harlaw." 

I marvlit what the matter meint, 

All folks war in a fiery fairy, 
I wist nocht quha was fae or friend, 

Zit quietly I did me carrie ; 

But sen the days of auld king Harrie, 
Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene ; 

And thair I had nae tyme to tairy, 
For bissiness in Aberdene. 

Thus as I walkit on the way, 

To Inverury as I went, 
I met a man, and bad him stay, 

Requesting him to mak' me 'quaint 




Of the beginning and the event, 
That happenit thair at the Harhiw; 

Then he entreated me tak' tent, 
And he the truth sould to me schaw.— 

" Grit Donald of the YIes did claim 

Unto the lands of Ross sum richt, 
And to the govern our he came, 

Them for to haif gif that he micht; 

Quha saw his interest was but slicht, 
And thairfore answerit with disdain ; 

He hastit name baith day and nicht, 
And sent nae bod word back again. 

" But Donald, richt impatient 

Of that answer duke Robert gaif, 
He vowed to God omnipotent, 

All the hale lands of Ross to haif; 

Or ells, he graithed in his graif, 
He wald not quat his richt for nocht, 

Nor be abusit lyk a slaif, 
That bargain sould be deirly bocht. 

" Then haistylie he did command. 

That all his weir-men should convene 
Ilk ane well harnisit frae hand, 

To meit, and heir quhat he did mein ; 

He waxit wrath, and vowit tein, 
Sweirand he wald surpryse the north, 

Subdew the brugh of Aberdene, 
Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe, to Forth. 

" Thus with the weir-men of the Yles, 

Quha war ay at his bidding boun', 
With money maid, with fcrss and wyls, 

Richt far and near, baith up and down ; 

Throw mount and muir, frae town to town, 
Allangst the land of Ross he roars, 

And all obeyed at his bandoun, 
Evin frae the north to suthren shoars. 

" Then all the cuntrie men did zield, 

For nae resistans durst they mak', 
Nor offer battill in the field, 

Be forss of arms to beir him bak; 

Syne they resolvit all and spak', 
That best it was for their behoif, 

They sould him for thair chiftain tak', 
Believing weil he did them luve. 

" Then he a proclamation maid, 

All men to meet at Inverness, 
Throw Murray land to mak' a raid, 

Frae Arthursyre unto Speyness; 












- ■■. ■\.*%mz> 



r 



139 



And, fur therm air, he sent express 
To schaw his colloars and en 

To ail and sindry, mair and less, 
Throchout the boundis of Boyn and Enzie. 

,f And then throw fair Strathbogie land, 

His purpose was for to pursew, 
And quh: - ->::and, 

That race they should full sairly rew ; 

Then he bad all his men be trew, 
And him defend by forss and slicht, 

And promist them rewariis anew, 
And mak' them men of meikle mieht. 



Panmuir with all his men did cam; 
The provost of braif Aberdene, 

With trumpets, and with tuick of drum, 
Came shortly in their armour sehene, 

" These with the erle of Mar eame on, 

In the reir-ward rieht orderlie, 
Their enemies to set upon 

In awful mass 

Together vowit to live and die. 
Sin : t zhij had marchit mony mylest, 

for to suppress the tyrannie 
Of douted Donald of the Yles. 



''■ Without resistans," as he said, 

" Throw all these parts he stoutly past, 
a :.ra war wae, and sum war glaid, 

B-vt Garioch was all agast ; 

Throw all these fields he aped him fast, 
For sic a sicht was never sene, 

And then, forsuith, he langd at last, 
To s^ the bruch of Aberdene. 

I r this prowd enterprise, 

The stout and michty erle of Mar, 
With all his men in arms did ryse, 

Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar; 

And down the syde cf Don richt far, 
Angns and Mearns did all convene 

To fecht, or Donald came Sae nar 
The ryall bruch of Aberdene. 



" But he in number ten to ane, 

Pucht subtiiie alang did ride, 

..Icomtoseh, and fell Maclean, 

"With all thair power at thair syde; 

Presumeand on thair strenth and pryde, 
T ~~- th of :-.U feir or ony aw, 

Eicht banldlie battiil did abyde, 
Hard by the town of fair Harlaw. 

" The armies met the trumpet sounds, 

The dandring drums alloud did touk, 
Baith armies byding on the bounds, 

Till ane of them the feild sould bruik ; 

y&e help was thairfor, nane wad jouk, 
Ferss was the fecht on ilka side, 

And on the ground lay mony a bouk, 
Of them that thair did battiil byd. 



" And thus the martial erle of Mar 
March! with his men in richt array, 
aware, 
nner bauldly did li 
For weil enewch they kend the way, 
And all their semblance weil they saw, 

Without all dangir or delay, 
Came hastily to the Harlaw. 

" With him the braif lord Ogilvy, 
Of Angus sheriff-principall; 

The constabill of gude Dunde, 

The vanguard led before them all : 
Suppose in number they war small, 

Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew, 
And maid their faes befoir them fall, 

Quha then that race did sairly rew. 

" And then the worthy lord Saltoun, 
The strong undoubted laird of Drum, 

The staiwart laird of Lawriestone, 
With ilk thair forces all and sum; 



" With doutsum victorie they dealt, 

The bludy battiil lastit lang ; 
Each man his nibours forss thair felt, 

The weakest aft-times gat the wrang ; 

Thair was nae mowis thair them amang, 
N"aething was heard but heavy knocks, 

That echo maid a dulefull sang, 
Thairto resounding frae the rocks, 

" But Donald's men at last gaif back, 

For they war all out of array; 
The erle of Maris men throw them brai, 
mg shairply in thair way, 

Their enerays to tak' or slay, 
Be dynt of forss to gar them yield ; 

Quha war richt blyth to win away, 
And sae for feirdness tint the field. 

** Then Donald fled, and that full fast, 
To mountains hich for all his michfc ; 

For he and his war all agast, 

And ran till they war out of sicht; 







&H 













(£D 






And sae of Ross he lost his richt, 
Thoch mony men with him he brocht ; 

Towards the Yles fled day and nicht, 
And all he wan was deirlie bocht. 

" This is," quod he, " the richt report 

Of all that I did heir and knaw ; 
Thoch my discourse be sumthing schort, 

Tak' this to be a richt suthe saw. 

Contrairie God and the king's law 
Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude, 

Into the battil of Harlaw ; 
This is the sum, sae I conclude. 

'* But zit a bonnie quhyle abide, 

And I sail mak' thee clearly ken, 
Quhat slauchter was on ilkay syde, 

Of Lowland and of Highland men ; 
Quha for their awin haif evir bene ; 

These lazie lowns micht weil be spaird, 
Chessit lyke deirs into thair dens, 

And gat thair wages for rewaird. 

" Malcomtosch of the clan heid cheif, 

Maclean with his grit hauchty heid, 
With all thair succour and relief, 

War dulefully dung to the deid ; 

And now we are freid of thair feid, 
And will not lang to come again ; 

Thousands with them without remeid, 
On Donald syd, that day war slain. 

" And on the uther syde war lost, 

Into the feild that dismal day, 
Cheif men of worth {of mekle cost) 

To be lamentit sair for ay ; 

The lord Saltoun of Rothemay, 
A man of micht and mekle main, 

Grit dolour was for his decay, 
That sae unhappylie was slain. 

** Of the best men amang them was 

The gracious gude lord Ogilvy, 
The sheriff-principal of Angus, 

Renownit for truth and equitie, 

For faith and magnanimitie ; 
He had few fallows in the feild, 

Zit fell by fatal destinie, 
For he nae ways wad grant to zield. 

" Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht, 
Grit constabill of fair Dunde, 

Unto the dulefull deith was dicht ; 
The kingis chief banner-man was he, 




A valiant man of chevalrie, 
Quhas predecessors wan that plaee 

At Spey, with gude king William frte, 
'Gainst Murray and Macdunean's race. 

" Gude Sir Alexander Irving, 

The much renownit laird of Dram, 
Nane in his days was better sene, 

Quhen they war semblit all and sum; 

To praise him we sould not be dumm, 
For valour, witt, and worthyness, 

To end his days he ther did cum, 
Quhois ransom is remeidyless. 

" And thair the knicht of Lawriston 

Was slain into his armour schenej 
And gude Sir Robert Davidson, 

Quha provest was of Aberdene ; 

The knicht of Panmure as was sene, 
A mortal man in armour bricht; 

Sir Thomas Murray stout and kene, 
Left to the world their last gude nicht. 

" Thair was not sin* king Keneth's days, 

Sic strange intestine crewel 6tryf 
In Scotland sene, as ilk man says, 

Quhair mony liklie lost thair lyfe; 

Quhilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe, 
And mony children fatherless, 

Quhilk in this realme has bene full ryfe ; 
Lord, help these lands, our wrangs redress !■— 

" In July, on Saint James his even, 

That four-and-twenty dismall day, 
Twelve hundred, ten score, and eleven, 

Of zeirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say; 

Men will remember as they may, 
Quhen thus the veritie they know ; 

And mony a ane may mum for ay, 
The brim battil of the Harlaw." 



®J)i 3&ittg'a IPaugj&i**. 

[Modern Ballad. — Henry Glassford Bell.] 

It was a lord and a gentle maid 
Sat in a greenwood bower, 

And thus the brave Sir Alfred said 
To the greenwood's fairest flower :— 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 




" 1 have loved thee well, sweet Rosalie,— 

With thee I could live and die ; 
But thou art a maid of low degree, 

And of princely race am I. 

u I have loved thee well, sweet Rosalie, 

I have loved a year and a day ; 
But a different fate is in store for me, 

And I must no longer stay. 

" Thou art a cottage maiden, love, 

And know not thy own pedigree; 
And I must marry the king's daughter, 

For she is betrothed to me." 

There was a smile on Rosalie's lip, 

But a tear in her blue eye shone ; 
The smile was all for her lover's fate, 

The tear perchance for her own. 

And down fell her ringlets of chestnut hair, 

Down in a shower of gold ; 
And she hid her face in her lover's arms, 

With feelings best left untold. 

Then slowly rose she in her bower, 
With something of pride and scorn, 

And she look'd like a tall and dewy flower 
That lifts up its head to the morn. 

She flung her golden ringlets aside, 
And a deep blush crimson'd her cheek, — 

"Heaven bless thee, Alfred, and thy young bride, 
Heaven give you the joy you seek ! 

" Thou wert not born for a cottage, love, 
Nor yet for a maiden of low degree ; 

Thcu wilt find thy mate in the king's daughter — 
Forget and forgive thy Rosalie." 

Sir Alfred has flung him upon his steed, 

But he rides at a laggard pace ; 
Of the road he is travelling he takes no heed, 

And a deadly paleness is on his face. 

Sir Alfred has c-me to the king's palace, 
And slowly Sir Alfred has lighted down ; 

He sigh'd when he thought of the king's daughter- 
He sigh'd when he thought of her father's crown . 

" Oh ! that my home were the greenwood bower, 
Under the shelter of the greenwood tree ! 

Oh ! that my strength had been all my dower, 
All my possessions Rosalie !" 



Sir Alfred has entered the royal hall 
'Midst a thousand nobles in rich array ; 

But he who was once more gay than all, 
Has never, I ween, one word to say. 

The king sat high on his royal throne, 
Though his hairs were gray, his arm was strong, 

" Good cousin," he said, in a jocund tone, 
" Is it thou or thy steed that has stay'd so long ? 

" But it boots not now— Bring forth the bride ! 

Thou hast never yet my daughter seen ; 
A woeful fate it is thine to bide, 

For her hair is red and her eyes are green !" 

The bride came forth in a costly veil, 
And nought of her face could Alfred see; 

But his cheek grew yet more deadly pale, 
And he fell down faltering upon his knee : 

'* Pardon ! pardon ! my liege, my king ! 

And let me speak while I yet am free ; 
But were she fair as the flowers of spring, 

To your daughter I never can husband be." 

Lightning flash'd from the king's fierce eye, 
And thunder spoke in his angry tone, — 

" Then the death of a traitor thou shalt die, 
And thy marriage peal shall be torture's moan J" 



" I never fear'd to die, Sir King, 
But my plighted faith I fear to break ; 

I never fear'd the grave's deep rest, 
But the pangs of conscience I fear to wake.*' 






* 



Out then spoke the king's daughter, 

And haughtily spoke she, — 
" If Sir Alfred is vow'd to another love, 

He shall never be claim'd by me ; — 

■* If Sir Alfred is vow'd to another love, 

Why, let the knight go free ; 
Let him give his hand to his other love, 

There are hundreds as good as he !" 

With a careless touch she threw hack her veil, 

As if it by chance might be ; 
And who do you think was the king's daughter ?— 

His own — his long-loved Rosalie ! 

First he stood like a marble stone, 

And she like a lily sweet, 
Then a sunny smile o'er his features phone, 

And then he was at her feet. 











- - - 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 




kjai'^u 




[Prom the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 
— " There are two ballads," says Sir Walter, "in 
Mr Herd's MSS. upon the following story, in 
one of which the unfortunate knight is termed 
Young Huntin. A fragment, containing, from 
the sixth to the tenth verse, has been repeatedly 
published. The best verses are here selected from 
both copies, and some trivial alterations have 
been adopted from tradition."] 

" O lacy, rock never your young son young, 

One hour langer for me ; 
For I have a sweetheart in Garlioch Wells, 

I love far better than thee. 

'* The very sole o' that lady's foot 
Than thy face is far mair white." — 

" But nevertheless, now, Erl Richard, 
Te will bide in my bower a' night?" 

She birled him with the ale and wine, 

As they sat down to sup : 
A living man he laid him down, 

But I wot he ne'er rose up. 

Then up and spake the popinjay, 

That flew aboun her head ; 
" Lady ! keep weel your green cleiding 

Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid." 

" O better I'll keep my green cleiding 

Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid, 
Than thou canst keep thy clattering toung, 

That trattles in thy head." 

She has call'd upon her bower maidens, 

She has call'd them ane by ane ; 
" There lies a dead man in my bower : 

I wish that he were gane !" 

They ha'e booted him, and spurred him, 

As he was wont to ride ; — 
A hunting-horn tied round his waist, 

A sharpe sword by his side ; 
And they ha'e had him to the wan water, 

For a' men call it Clyde. 

Then up and spoke the popinjay, 

That sat upon the tree — 
What ha'e ye done wi' Eil Richard ? 
Ye were his gay ladye." 



" Come down, come down, my bonnie bird. 

And sit upon my hand ; 
And thou shalt ha'e a cage o' gowd. 

Where thou hast but the wand." 

"Awa' I awa' ! ye ill woman ! 

Nae cage o' gowd for me ; 
As ye ha'e dune to Erl Richard, 

Sae wad ye do to me." 

She hadna cross'd a rigg o' laud, 

A rigg, but barely ane, 
Y/hen she met wi' hi3 auld father, 

Came riding all alane. 

" Where ha'e ye been now, ladye fair? 

Where ha'e ye been sae late ?" 
" We ha'e been seeking Erl Richard, 

But him we canna get." 

" Erl Richard kens a' the fords in Clyde, 

He'll ride them ane by ane, 
.And though the night was ne'er sae mirk, 

Erl Richard will be name." 

it fell anes, upon a day, 

The king was boun' to ride ; 
And he has mist him, Erl Richard, 

Should ha'e ridden on his right side. 

The ladye turn'd her round about, 

Wi' meikle mournfu' din — 
" It fears me sair o ; Clyde water, 

That he is drown 'd therein." 

" Gar douk, gar douk," the king he crud, 

" Gar douk for gold and fee ; 
O wha will douk for Erl Richard's sake, 

Or wha will douk for me?" 

They douked in at ae weil-head, 

And out aye at the other; 
" We can douk nae mair for Erl Rictiard, 

Although he were our brother." 

It fell that in that ladye's castle, 

The king was boun' to bed ; 
And up and spake the popinjay, 

That flew abune his head. 

" Leave off your douking on the day, 

And douk upon the night; 
And where that sackless knight lies slain, 

The candles will burn bright." 






W':^ : y"m« : 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" there's a bird within this bower, 
That sings baith sad and sweet; 

O there's a bird within your bower, 
Keeps me frae my night's sleep." 

They left the douking on the day, 

And douked upon the night; 
And, where that sackless knight lay slain, 

The candles burned bright.* 

The deepest pot in a' the linn,f 

They far.d Erl Richard in; 
A grene turf tyed across his breast, 

To keep that gude lord down. 

Then up and spake the king himsel', 
When he saw the deadly wound — 

u wha has slain my right-hand man, 
That held my hawk and hound ?" 

Then up and spake the popinjay, 
Says — " What needs a' this din ? 

" It was his light leman took his life, 
And hided him in the linn." 

She swore her by the grass sae grene, 

Sae did she by the corn, 
She had na' seen him, Erl Richard, 

Since Moninday at morn. 



* These are unquestionably the corpse lights, 
called in Wales Canhrvyllan Cyrph, which are 
sometimes seen to illuminate the spot where a 
dead body is concealed. The editor is informed, 
that, some years ago, the corpse of a man, 
drowned in the Ettrick, below Selkirk, was dis- 
covered by means of these candles. Such lights 
are common in church-yards, and are probably of 
a phosphoric nature. But rustic superstition 
derives them from supernatural agency, and 
supposes, that, as soon as life has departed, a 
pale flame appears at the window of the house, 
in which the person had died, and glides towards 
the church-yard, tracing through every winding 
the rout of the future funeral, and pausing where 
the bier is to rest. This and other opinions, re- 
lating to the " tomb-fires' livid gleam," seem to 
be of Runic extraction. — Scott. 

f The deep holes, scooped in the rock by the 
eddies of a river, are called pots ; the motion of 
the water having there some resemblance to a 
boiling cauldron. — Linn, means the pool beneath 
a cataract.— Scott. 




" Put na the wite on me," she said ; 

" It was my may Catherine." 
Then they ha'e cut baith fern and thorn, 

To burn that maiden in. 

It wadna take upon her cheik, 

Nor yet upon her chin ; 
Nor yet upon her yellow hair, 

To cleanse the deadly sin. 

The maiden touched the clay-cauld corpse, 

A drap it never bled ; £ 
The ladye laid her hand on him, 

And soon the gi-ound was red. 

Out they ha'e ta'en her, may Catherine, 

And put her mistress in : 
The flame tuik fast upon htr cheik, 

Tuik fast upon her chin ; 
Tuik fast upon her faire bodye — 

She burn'd like hollins green. 



[" This ballad was communicated to me by Mr 
James Hogg; and, although it bears a strong 
resemblance to that of Earl Richard, so strong, 
indeed, as to warrant a supposition, that the 
one has been derived from the other, yet its in- 
trinsic merit seems to warrant its insertion. 
Mr Hogg has added the following note, which, 

$ This verse, which is restored from tradition, 
refers to a superstition formerly received in most 
parts of Europe, and even resorted to by judicial 
authority, for the discovery of murder. In Ger- 
many, this experiment was called bahr-recht, or 
the law of the bier ; because, the murdered body 
being stretched upon a bier, the suspected per- 
son was obliged to put one hand upon the 
wound, and the other upon the mouth of the 
deceased, and, in that posture, call upon heaven 
to attest his innocence. If, during this cere- 
mony, the blood gushed from the mouth, nose, 
or wound, a circumstance not unlikely to hap- 
pen in the course of shifting or stirring the body, 
it was held sufficient evidence of the guilt of the 
party. The same singular kind of evidence, al- 
though reprobated by Mathaeus and Carpzovius, 
was admitted in the Scottish criminal courts, at 
the short distance of one century. — Scott. 







SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



cS 






m 



m 



in the course of my inquiries, I have found amply 
corroborated. — ' I am fully convinced of the an- 
tiquity of this song ; for, although much of the 
language seems somewhat modernized, this 
must be attributed to its currency, being much 
liked, and very much sung in this neighbour- 
hood. I can trace it back several generations, 
but cannot hear of its ever having been in print. 
1 have never heard it with any considerable 
variation, save that one reciter called the dwell- 
ing of the feigned sweetheart, Castlesrva.' "J 

Scott. 

Lord William was the bravest knight 
That dwalt in fair Scotland, 

And though renowned in France and Spain, 
Fell by a ladie's hand. 

As she was walking maid alone, 

Down by yon shady wood, 
She heard a smit* o' bridle reins, 

She wish'd might be for good. 

" Come to my arms, my dear Willie, 

You're welcome hame to me ; 
To best o' chear, and charcoal red,f 

And candle burnin' free." 

" I winna light, I darena light, 

Nor come to your arms at a' ; 
A fairer maid than ten o' you, 

I'll meet at Castle-law." 

" A fairer maid than me, Willie ! 

A fairer maid than me ! 
A fairer maid than ten o' me, 

Your eyes did never see." 

He louted owr his saddle lap, 

To kiss her ere they part, 
And wi' a little keen bodkin, 

She pierced him to the heart. 

" Ride on, ride on, lord William, now, 

As fast as ye can dree ! 
Your bonnie lass at Castle-law 

Will weary you to see." 

* Smit — Clashing noise, from smite— hence 
also {perhaps) Smith and Smithy. — Scott. 

f Charcoal red — This circumstance marks the 
antiquity of the poem. While wood was plenty 
in Scotland, charcoal was the usual fuel in the 
chambers of the wealthy.— Scott. 




Out up then spake a bonnie bird, 

Sat high upon a tree, — 
" How could you kill that noble lord ? 

He came to marry thee." 

" Come down, come down, my bonnie bird, . 

And eat bread aff my hand ! 
Your cage shall be of wiry goud, 

Whar now it's but the wand." 

" Keep ye your cage o' goud, lady, 

And I will keep my tree ; 
As ye ha'e done to lord William, 

bae wad ye do to me." 

She set her foot on her door step, 

A bonnie marble stane ; 
And carried him to her chamber, 

O'er him to make her mane. 

And she has kept that good lord's corpse 

Three quarters of a year, 
Until that word began to spread, 

Then she began to fear. 



Then she cried to her waiting maid, 

Aye ready at her ca' ; 
" There is a knight into my bower, 

'Tis time he were awa." 

The ane has ta'en him by the head, 

The ither by the feet, 
And thrown him in the wan water, 

That ran baith wide and deep. 

" Look back, look back, now, lady fair, 

On him that lo'ed ye weel ! 
A better man than that blue corpse 

Ne'er drew a sword of steel." 






mti 



urn. 



tFiRST published in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, 
to which collection it was communicated by Mr S 
P. Buchan.J 



When Reedisdale and Wise William 
Were drinking at the wine; 

There fell a roosing them amang, 
On an unruly time. 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



For some o' them ha'e roos'd their hawks, £& 

And other some their hounds ; 
And other some their ladies fair, 

And their bowers whare they walk'd in. 

When out it spake him Reedisdale, 

And a rash word spake he ; 
Says, " There is not a lady fair, 

In bower wherever she be, 
But I could aye her favour win, 

Wi' ae blink o' my e'e." 

Then out it spake him, wise William, 

And a rash word spake he ; 
Says, " I have a sister of my own, 

In bower where ever she be, 
And ye will not her favour win, 

With three blinks of your e'e." 

" What will ye wager, wise William ? 

My lands I'll wad with thee;" 
** I'll wad my head against your land, 

Till I get more monie." 

Then Reedisdale took wise William, 

Laid him in prison Strang ; 
That he might neither gang nor ride, 

Kor ae word to her send. 

But he has written a braid letter, 

Between the night and day, 
And sent it to his own sister, 

By dun feather and gray. 

When she had read wise William's letter, 

She smiled and she leugh ; 
Said, " Very well, my dear brother, 

Of this 1 have eneuch." 

She looked out at her west window, 

To see what she could see ; 
And there she spied him Reedisdale, 

Come riding ower the lea. 

Says, " Come to me, my maidens all, 

Come hitherward to me ; 
For here it comes him Reedisdale, 

Who comes a-courting me." 

"Come down, come down, my lady fair, 

A sight of you give me." 
" Go from my yetts now, Reedisdale, 

For me you will not see." 



" Come down, come down, my lady fair, 

A sight of you give me; 
And bonnie are the gowns of silk 

That I will give to thee." 

" If you have bonnie gowns of silk, 

mine is bonnie tee ; 

Go from my yetts now, Reedisdale, 
For me you shall not see." 

" Come down, come down, my lady fair, 

A sight of you I'll see ; 
And bonnie jewels, brooches, and rings, 

1 will give unto thee." 

" If you have bonnie brooches and rings, 

O mine are bonnie tee ; 
Go from my yetts now, Reedisdale, 

For me you shall not see." 

" Come down, come down, my lady fair, 

One sight of you I'll see; 
And bonnie are the ha's and bowers 

That I will give to thee." 

" If you have bonnie ha's and bowers, 

O mine are bonnie tee ; 
Go from my yetts now, Reedisdale, 

For me you shall not see." 

" Come down, come down, my lady fair, 

A sight of you I'll see ; 
And bonnie are my lands so broad, 

That I will give to thee." 

" If you have bonnie lands so broad, 

mine are bonnie tee ; 

Go from my yetts now, Reedisdale, 
For me ye will not see." 

" Come down, come down, my lady fair, 

A sight of you I'll see ; 
And bonnie are the bags of gold 

That I will give to thee." 

" If you have bonnie bags of gold, 

1 have bags of the same ; 

Go from my yetts now, Reedisdale, 
For down I will not come.' 

w Come down, come down, my lady fair, 

One sight of you I'll see; 
Or else I'll set your house on fire, 

If better cannot be." 



1\&C 






UG 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Then he has set the house on fire 

And all the rest it tuke ; 
He turned his wight horse head about, 

Said, " Alas ! they'll ne'er get out." 

" Look out, look out, my maidens fair, 

And see what I do see ; 
How Eeedisdale has fired our house, 

And now rides o'er the lea. 

" Come hitherwards, my maidens fair, 

Come hither unto me ; 
For thro' this reek, and thro' this smeek, 

through it we must be." 

They took wet mantles them about, 

Their coffers by the band ; 
And thro' the reek, and thro' the flame, 

Alive they all have wan. 

When they had got out through the fire, 

And able all to stand ; 
She sent a maid to wise William, 

To bruik Reedisdale's land. 

" Your land is mine now, Reedisdale, 

For I have won them free." 
" If there is a gude woman in the world, 

Your one sister is she." 



# n 9 



[First published in Buchan's Ballads of the 
North.] 

Lady Maisry lives intill a bower, 
She never wore but what she would ; 

Her gowns were o' the silks sae fine, 
Her coats stood up wi' bolts o' gold. 

Mony a knight there courted her, 
And gentlemen o' high degree; 

But it was Thomas o' Yonderdale, 
That gain'd the love o' this ladie. 

Now he has hunted her till her bower, 
Baith late at night, and the mid-day ; 

But when he stole her virgin rose, 

Nae mair this maid he would come nigh. 




Bat it fell ance upon a time, 

Thomas, her bower he walked by, 

There he saw her, lady Maisry, 

Nursing her young son on her knee. 

" O seal on you, my bonnie babe, 
And lang may ye my comfort be ; 

Your father passes by our bower, 

And now minds neither you nor me." 

Now when Thomas heard her speak, 
The saut tear trinkled frae his e'e; 

To lady Maisry's bower he went, 

Says, " Now I'm come to comfort thee." 

" Is this the promise ye did make, 
Last when I was in your companie ? 

You said before nine months were gane, 
Your wedded wife that I should be." 

" If Saturday be a bonnie day, 

Then, my love, I maun sail the sea; 

But if I live for to return, 

then, my love, I'll marry thee." 

" I wish Saturday a stormy day, 

High and stormy be the sea ; 
Ships may not sail, nor boats row, 

But gar true Thomas stay wi* me." 

Saturday was a bonnie day, 

Fair and leesome blew the wind ; 

Ships did sail, and boats did row, 

Which had true Thomas to unco ground. 

He hadna been on unco ground, 

A month, a month, but barely three, 

Till he has courted anither maid, 
And quite forgotten lady Maisry. 

Ae night as he lay on his bed, 
In a dreary dream dreamed he, 

That Maisry stood by his bedside, 
Upbraiding him for's inconstancie. 

He's call'd upon his little boy, 

Says, " Bring me candle, that I see; 

And ye maun gang this night, boy, 
Wi' a letter to a gay ladie." 

" It is my duty you to serve, 

And bring you coal and candle light, 
And I would rin your errand, master, 

If 't were to lady Maisry bright. 



?±£SI&Cr9L 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



M7 



n Thoagh my legs were sair I couldna gang, ^ 
Tho' the night were dark I couldna see, 

Though I should creep on hands and feet, 
I would gae to Lady Maisry." 

" Win up, win up, my bonnie boy, 

And at my bidding for to be ; 
For ye maun quickly my errand rin, 

For it is to Lady Maisry. 

f ' Ye'll bid her dress in the gowns o' silk, 
Likewise in the coats o' cramasie ; 

Ye'll bid her come alang wi' you, 
True Thomas's wedding for to see. 

" Ye'll bid her shoe her steed before, 
And a' gowd graithing him behind ; 

On ilka tip o'her horse mane, 
Twa bonnie bells to loudly ring. 

" And on the tor o' her saddle, 

A courtly bird to sweetly sing; 
Her bridle reins o' silver fine, 

And stirrups by her side to hing." 

She dress'd her in the finest silk, 

Her coat3 were o' the cramasie ; 
And she's awa' to unco land, 

True Thomas's wedding for to see. 

At ilka tippet o' her horse mane, 
Twa bonnie bells did loudly ring; 

And on the tor o ; her saddle, 
A courtly bird did sweetly sing. 

The bells they rang, the bird he sang, 
As they rode in yon pleasant plain ; 

Then soon she met true Thomas's bride, 
WI' a' her maidens and young men. 

The bride she garned round about, 

" I wonder," said she, " who this may be ? 

It surely is our Scottish queen, 

Ccme here our wedding for to see." 

Out it speaks true Thomas's boy, 
■* She maunna lift her head sae hie; 

But it's true Thomas's first love, 
Come here your wedding for to see." 

Then cut bespake true Thomas's bride, 
I wyte the tear did blind her e'e; 

" If this be Thomas's first true love, 
I'm sair afraid he'll ne'er ha'e me." 



Then in it came her Lady Maisry, 
And aye as she trips in the fleer; 

" What is your will, Thomas," she said, 
" This day, ye know, ye call'd me here ?" 

" Come hither by me, ye lily flower, 
Come hither, and set ye down by me ; 

For ye're the ane I've call'd upon, 
And ye my wedded wire maun be." 

Then in it came true Thomas's bride, 
And aye as she tripp'd on the stane; 

" What is your will, Thomas," she said, 
" This day, ye know, ye call'd me hame ? n 

" Ye ha'e come on hired horse cack, 
But ye'se gae hame in coach sae free ; 

For here's the flower into my bower, 
I mean my wedded wife shall be." 

" O ye will break your lands, Thomas, 
And part them in divisions three ; 

G-i'e twa o' them to your ae brother, 
And cause your brother marry me." 

" I winna break my lands," he said, 

" For ony woman that I see; 
My brother's a knight o' wealth and might, 

He'll wed nane but he will for me." 



HasI ®x&Mimh 



[Faoai Buchan's Ballads of the North.'' 

" we were seven bonnie sisters, 
As fair women as fair could be, 

And some got lairds, and some got lords, 
And some got knights o' high degree ; 

When I was married to Earl Crawford, 
This was the fate that befell to me. 

" When we had been married for some time, 
We walked in our garden green ; 

And aye he clapp'd his young son's head, 
And aye he made sae much o' him. 

" I turn'd me right and round about, 
And aye the blythe blink in my e'e; 

Ye think as much o' your young son 
As ye do o' my fair body. 



113 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






" What need ye clap your young son's head, 
What need ye make so much o' him ? 

What need ye clap your young son's head ? 
I'm sure ye gotna him your lane." 

" O if I gotna him my lane, 

Show here the man that helped me; 

And for these words your ain mouth spoke, 
Heir o' my land he ne'er shall be." 

He call'd upon his stable groom, 

To come to him right speedilie ; 
" Gae saddle a steed to Lady Crawford, 

Be sure ye do it hastilie. 

" His bridle gilt wi' gude red gowd, 

That it may glitter in her e'e ; 
And send her on to bonnie Stobha', 

All her relations for to see." 

Her mother lay o'er the castle wa', 
And she beheld baith dale and down 

And she beheld her, Lady Crawford, 
As she came riding to the town. 

" Come here, come here, my husband dear, 

This day ye see not what I see ; 
For here there comes her, Lady Crawford, 

Biding alane upon the lee." 

When she came to her father's yates, 

She tirled gently at the pin ; 
" If ye sleep, awake, my mother dear, 

Ye'il rise lat Lady Crawford in." 

" What news, what news, ye Lady Crawford, 
That ye come here so hastilie ?" 

" Bad news, bad news, my mother dear, 
For my gude lord's forsaken me." 

' ' O wae's me for you, Lady Crawford, 

This is a dowie tale to me ; 
Alas ! you were too young married, 

To thole sic cross and misery." 

" had your tongue, my mother dear, 

And ye'll lat a' your folly be ; 
It was a word my merry mouth spake, 

That sinder'd my gude lord and me." 

Out it spake her brither then, 

Aye as he stept ben the floor ; 
" My sister Lillie was but eighteen years 

When Earl Crawford wrong'd her sore. 




" But had your tongue, my sister dear, 
And ye'll lat a' your mourning bee; 

I'll wed you to as fine a knight, 
That is nine times as rich as hee." 

" haud your tongue, my brither dear, 

And ye'll lat a' your folly bee ; 
I'd rather yae kiss o' Crawford's mouth 

Than a' his gowd and white monie. 

" But saddle to me my riding steed, 

And see him saddled speedilie ; 
And I will on to Earl Crawford's, 

And see if he will pity me." 

Earl Crawford lay o'er castle wa', 
And he beheld baith dale and down ; 

And he beheld her, Lady Crawford, 
As she came riding to the town% 

He called ane o' his livery men 
To come to him right speedilie ; 

" Gae shut my yates, gae steek my doors, 
Keep Lady Crawford out fiae me." 

When she came to Earl Crawford's yatoa, 

She tirled gently at the pin ; 
'* O sleep ye, wake ye, Earl Crawford, 

Ye'll open, Lat Lady Crawford in. 

" Come down, ccme down, O Earl Crawford, 
And speak some comfort unto me ; 

And if ye winna come yoursel', 

Ye'll send your gentleman to me." 

" Indeed, I winna come mysel', 
Nor send my gentleman to thee; 

For I tauld you when we did part 
Nae mair my spouse ye'd ever bee.'' 

She laid her mouth then to the yates, 
And aye the tears drapt frae her e'e ; 

Says, " Fare-ye-well, Earl Crawford's yatePj 
You, again, I'll nae mair see." 

Earl Crawford call'd on his stable groom 
To come to him right speedilie ; 

And sae did he his waiting man, 
That did attend his fair bodie. 

" Ye will gae saddle for me my steed, 
And see and saddle him speedilie; 

And I'll gang to the Lady Crawford, 
And see if she will pity me." 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



149 






Lady Crawford lay o'er castle wa', 

And she beheld baith dale and down ; 

And she beheld him, Earl Crawford, 
As he came riding to the town. 

Then she has call'd ane o' her maids 

To come to her right speedilie; 
** Gae shut my yates, gae steek my doors, 

Keep Earl Crawford out frae me." 

When he came to Lady Crawford's yates, 

He tirled gently at the pin ; 
" Sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Crawford, 

Ye'll rise and lat Earl Crawford in. 

** Come down, come down, O Lady Crawford, 
Come down, come down, and speak wi* 
me; 

And gin ye winna come yoursel', 

Te'll send jour waiting-maid to me." 

" Indeed I winna come mysel', 

Nor send my waiting-maid to thee ; 

Sae take your ain words hame again 
At Crawford castle ye tauld me. 

" mother dear gae make my bed, 
And ye will make it saft and soun', 

And turn my face unto the west, 
That I nae mair may see the sun." 

Her mother she did make her bed, 
And she did make it saft and soun'; 

True were the words fair Lilli-e spake, 
Her lovely eyes ne'er saw the sun. 

The Earl Crawford mounted his steed, 
Wi' sorrows great he did ride hame ; 

But ere the morning sun appear'd, 
This fine lord was dead and gane. 

Then on a'e night this couple died, 
And baith were buried in a'e tomb ; 

Let this a warning be to all, 

Their pride may not bring them low down. 



S|d}n ©]&OTM&®ia 



®wlu 



t" This curious ballad is of respectable anti- 
quity. Dunbar has written a piece entitled 
' Prayer that the King war John Thomsoun's 



man,' the 4th line of each stanza being ( God, 
gif ye war John Thomsoun, man !' In his note 
on this poem, Mr Pinkerton says : ' This is a pro- 
verbial expression, meaning a hen-pecked hus- 
band. I have little doubt but the original pro- 
verb was Joan Thomson's man ; man, in Scot- 
land, signifies either husband or servant.' Pin- 
kerton was ignorant of the existence of the bal- 
lad : had he been acquainted with it, he would 
have saved himself the trouble of writing a fool • 
ish conjecture. Colville in his Whig's Supplica- 
tion, or the Scotch Hudibras, alludes twice to 
John Thomson : 

' V/e read in greatest warriors' lives, 

They oft were ruled by their wives, &C 

And so che imperious Roxalan 

Made the great Turk Johne Thomson'3 mau. : 



' And these we ken, 

Have ever bee-n John Thomson's men, 
That is still ruled by their wives.' 

" Pennieuick, in his Linton address to the 
Prince of Orange, also alludes to the proverbial 
expression— 

' Our Lintonn wires shall blaw the coal, 
And women here, as weel we ken, 
Would have us all John Thomson's men.' 

'* Two or three stanzas of the ballad were known 
to Dr Leyden when he published his addition of 
the Complaynt of Scotland. These he has given 
in the glossary appended to that work. 

" In Kelly's proverbs, London, 1721, there is 
this notice of the proverb — ' Better be John 
Thomson's man than Eingan Dinn's or John 
Knox's,' and Kelly gives this gloss, * John 
Thomson's man is he that is complaisant to his 
wife's humours, Eingan Dinns is he whom his 
wife scolds, John Knox's is he whom his wife 
beats.' In the west country, my friend, Mr A* 
Crawford, informs me that when a company are 
sitting together, sociably, and a neighbour drops 
in, it is usual to welcome him thus : — ' Come 
awa', we're a' John Tamson's bairns.' 

" There is a eong about John Tamson's wal- 
let, but whether this was the Palmer's scrip, 
which the hero of the ballad must have borne, I 
know not. All that I have heard concerning 
the wallet is contained in these two verses : 

' John Tamson's wallet frae end to end, 
John Tamson's wallet frae end to end; 
And what was in't ye fain would ken, 
» Whigmaleeriea for women and men. 












150 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



About his wallet there was a dispute, = 

Some said it was made o' the skin o' a brute, 
But I believe its made o' the best o' bend, 
John Tamson's wallet's frae end to end.' 

There i9 a nursery ryme which runs thus: 

' John Tamson and his man 
To the town ran ; 
They bought and they sold 
And the penny down told. 
The kirk was ane, 
The quire was twa ; 
They gied a skelp, 
And cam' awaV 

And this exhausts all I know respecting this 
worthy warrior." — Motherwell.} 

John Thomson fought against the Turks 
Three years, intill a far countrie; 

And all that time and something mair, 
Was absent from his gay ladie. 

But it fell ance upon a time, 

As this young chieftain sat alane, 

He spied his lady in rich array, 
As she walk'd ower a rural plain. 

" What brought ye here, my lady gay, 
So far awa' from your ain countrie ? 

I've thought lang, and very lang, 
And all for your fair face to see." 

For some days she did with him stay, 

Till it fell ance upon a day, 
" Fare weel, for a time," she said, 

" For now I must boun hame away." 

He's gi'en to her a jewel fine, 

Was set with pearl and precious stane ; 
Says, " My love beware of these savages bold, 

That's in your way as ye gang hame. 

" Ye'll tak' the road, my lady fair, 
That leads you fair across the lea : 

That keeps you from wild Hind Soldan, 
And likewise from base Violentrie." 

Wi' heavy heart thir twa did pairt, 
She mintet as she wuld gae hame ; 

Hind Soldan by the Greeks was slain. 
But to base Violentrie she's gane. 

When a twelvemonth had expired, 

John Thomson he thought wond'rous lang, 

And he has written a braid letter, 
And sealed it weel wi' his ain hand. 



He sent it with a small vessel 

That there was quickly gaun to sea ; 

And sent it on to fair Scotland, 
To see about his gay ladie. 

But the answer he received again — 

The lines did grieve his heart right sair: 

Kane of her friends there had her seen, 
For a twelvemonth and something mair. 

Then he put on a palmer's weed, 
And took a pike-staff in his hand ; 

To Violentrie's castell he hied, 
But slowly slowly he did gang. 

When within the hall he came, 

He jooked andcouch'd out ower his tree — 
" If ye be lady of this hall, 

Some of your good bountith gi'e me." 

" What news, what news, palmer," she said, 
" And from what countrie cam' ye ?" 

" I'm lately come from Grecian plains, 
Where lies some of the Scots armie." 

"If ye be come from Grecian plains, 
Some mair news I will ask of thee — 

Of one of the chieftains that lies there, 
If he has lately seen his gay ladie." 

" It is twa months and something mair, 
Since we did pairt on yonder plain ; 

And now this knight has began to fear 
One of his foes he has her ta'en." 

" He has not ta'en me by force nor slight, 

It was a' by my ain free will ; 
He may tarry into the fight, 

For here I mean to tarry still. 

" And if John Thomson ye do see, 
Tell him I wish him silent sleep ; 

His head was not so coziely, 

Nor yet sae weel as lies at my feet." 

With that he threw aff his strange disguise, 
Laid by the mask that he had on ; 

Said, " Hide me now, my lady fair, 
For Violentrie will soon be hame." 

" For the love I bore thee ance, 
I'll strive to hide you if I can." 

Then she put him down in a dark cellar, 
Where there lay many a new-slain man. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



151 



Bat he hadna in the cellar been, 
Xot an hour but barely three, 

Then hideous was the noise he heard, 
When in at the gate cam' Yiolentrie. 

Says, " I wish you well, my lady fair, 

Its time for us to sit to dine; 
Come, serve me with the good white bread, 

And likewise with the claret wine. 

" That Scots chieftain, our mortal fae, 
Sae aft frae field has made us flee, 

Ten thousand zechins this day I'll give 
That I his face could only see." 

" Of that same gift wuld you give me, 
If I wuld bring him unto thee ? 

I fairly hold you at your word — 

Oome ben John Thomson to my lord." 

Then from the vault John Thomson came, 
Wringing his hands most piteouslie, 

" What would ye do," the Turk he cried, 
" If ye had me as I ha'e thee f" 

" If I had you as ye have me, 
I'll tell ye what I'd do to thee ; 

I'd hang you up in good green wood, 
And cause your ain hand wale the tree. 

" I meant to stick you with my knife 
For kissing my beloved ladie" — 

" But that same weed ye've shaped for me, 
It quickly shall be sewed for thee." 

Then to the wood they baith are gane ; 

John Thomson clamb frae tree to tree; 
And aye he sighed and said, " och hone, 

Here comes the day that I must die." 

He tied a ribbon on every branch, 
Put up a flag his men might see; 

But little did his fause faes ken 
He meant them any injurie. 

He set his horn unto his mouth, 

And he has blawn baith loud and schiil : 

And then three thousand armed men 
Cam' tripping all out ower the hill. 

" Deliver us, our chief," they all did cry, 
" Its by our hand that ye must die ; " 

" Here is your chief," the Turk replied, 
With that fell on his bended knee. 



" mercy, mercy, good fellows all, 
Mercy, I pray you'll grant to me ;" 

" Such mercy as ye meant to give, 
Such mercy we shall give to thee." 

This Turk they in his castel burnt, 
That stood upon yon hill so hie ; 

John Thomson's gay ladie they took 

And hang'd her on yon greenwood tree ! 



[Modern Ballad. — By John Nevay. — It is 
well known in the north, that a deadly feud 
existed between the Lindsays and Ogilvies. The 
story in the present ballad is an episode in the 
history of the rival houses.] 

When, in yon dark -red mouldering towers, 

By Lemla's n.uddy bourne, 
The fierce Lindsaye, with feudal sway, 

Made many a vassal mourn, 

Behind Phinaven's fir-crown'd hill 

A shepherd's shieling stood ; 
And with him wonn'd his shepherdess, 

His Marion, fair and good. 

To sing the lovely maiden's charms 

Foil'd every minstrel's skill ; 
And legend says — there ne'er was lass 

Like Marion of the hill ! 

No marvel then that she should be 

Her father's joy and pride; 
And though he wish'd, yet much he fear'd 

To see his child a bride. 

Blythe tended she her happy flock 

On yon green sunny brae ; 
Blythe walk'd in harvest on yon hill 

To pull the berries blae. 

Oft by the fount, that from the rock 

Still trickles cool and clear, 
She sat and sang till echoes rang, 

Which she much liked to hear. 

Earl Lindsaye, there, oft saw the fan- 
As he rode hunting by ; 

And he would leave the knights and 'squires, 
With passion in his eye — 















152 



SCOTTISH BALLADS 



- 






" O, by the rood ! I have not seen, 

Amang our damsels bright, 
Such eyne as these, so formed to please, 

And give an earl delight!" 

The maiden blushed, and fixed her eyes 
On the young gowan's flower : 

Her heart was innocent as it, 
And fear'd no earthly power. 

The earl rode on, and to the chase, 

Still he on Marion thought ; 
But dark his soul, as were his looks, 

He set that soul to plot. 

He loved no one upon the earth, 

And no one e'er loved him ; 
Even his own children, when they durst, 

Would shun his presence grim ! 

None on the earth he fear'd but one— 

The widow of the den ! 
He thought she was a midnight witch 

To weird the fate of men. 

She was a spinster of the sun, 
And 'rose with morning wan; 

Fine, as the gossamer, the threads 
Her bonnie fingers spaa. 

As the earl rode by the hovel door 

To hunt the love-eyed stag, 
A feigned smile trembled in his eye 

To the sup] 



With fear he mark'd her small grey eyne; 

And if their look was bland, 
He rode ; and many an antler bright 

That day lay on the land ! 

But should his black steed halt and snort, 
His hounds howl as they pass'd, 

Back to his gloomy towei-s he sped, 
Lest he, by cantrip-cast, 

Might o'er yon dizzy craig be flung, 

Mangled among the gorse ! 
If or vain his fears— old Janet had 

For him a secret curse. 

Young Duncan was the widow's son; 

He loved the shepherd's child ; 
And he was blest as blest could be 

When Marion on him smiled. 



To win the simple maiden's heart 

No artful wiles ha.d he; 
His love for her was warm and trae 

As sunshine to the tree. 

And he would chase the fox and wolf 

That took her lambs away ; 
And on the hill the adder kill 

That in her flower-path lay. 

And he would tear the eagle from 

His eyry on the rock, 
And lay him stretch'd before his" love, 

Beside her bleating flock. 

From infancy he was inured 

To sun-heat, and to storm ; 
A muscular and stalwart youth, 

Firm as the oak his form. 

His arm was strength, his foot was speed, 
His heart truth's purest glow; 

Uneap'd he went; and on the bent 
He oft outran the roe ! 

Yea, by the antlers he would take 

The irritated stag ; 
And from his keep, in forest deep, 

The desert's idol drag ! 

Yet, though in strength a Hercules, 

He, as the kid, was meek, — 
Knew not to boast,— good-natured still, 

And helper of the weak. 

His dam, with a peculiar love, 

Loved her gallant boy ; 
In him she saw his father's strength, 

His kindness, and his joy. 

She knew he was her champion 
To avenge the wrongs of three — 

Himself, his mother — father too, 
Who died on gallows-tree. 

Earl Lindsaye plotted day and night, 

In tower, and forest wild, 
How he could snare, to his foul lair, 

The shepherd's lovely child. 

At last his heart devised an art, 
A witching scheme, and rare : 

He had a harper of such power, 
It joy gave to despair ! 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



153 



Young Marion loved the lark's love-song 
Loved all the woodland quire ; 

But she had never heard the harp 
"Whose strains the soul inspire I 

'Twixt Catlaw and his brother-alp 
Shone eve's mild-raying sun ; 

And there was a soft golden light 
On vale and mountain dun. 

Penn'd was the flock— her care and joy; 

And, with her own fair lamb, 
Adown the footpath midst the broom, 

When all things breathed of balm, 

The maiden took her vesper walk ; 

The breeze was lull'd to sleep, 
And even the aspen rustled not; 

With soft and silvery sweep 

The Esk was scarcely heard to flow ; 

While, on her raptured ear, 
Fell strain so sweet, so bland, so pure, 

It seem'd from heavenly sphere ! 

She paused — she listened ; it was gone ! 

And she resumed her walk : 
" O, could I hear that strain again '." 

Was Marion's mental talk. 

Of fays and fairies she had heard, 
Of their music sweet and bland ; 

It, haply, might be them, she thought, 
From happy fairy-land. 

'Twas play'd again— and sweeter still 

The fascinating air ! 
'Twas in the wood, not distant far, 

And Marion entered there. 

The summer sun, with setting beam, 
On the green trees shone bright ; 

Her silvan path was green and gold, 
And music gave delight. 

The damsel laid her down to rest, 
So charm'd, she almost wept ! 

The siren-harp play'd on and on — 
Her heart o'erpower'd, she slept ! 

For this the tyrant's vassal-slaves 

Prepared had duly been :— 
On eider-couch they bore her through 

The forest's deep serene. 



Soon in the castle's gayest bower, 

And on the softest couch, 
The sleeping shepherdess was laid ; 

But no rude hand dare touch, — 

For, over sacred innocence 

May guardian angel be ; 
While guilt in his own snare is caught, 

His own ill destiny. 

The shepherd's daughter-child is lost ; 

And well might be surmise, 
That she is in Earl Lindsaye's power, 

And sad in secret sighs. 

Xow should he dare his plaint to make, 

The pit, the axe, and block, — 
The dungeon-cell, and gibbet-tree, 

His misery would mock ! 

He left his shieling,— left his flock 

On the green hills to stray : 
His faithful dog tended the sheep 

For two nights and a day. 

Meanwhile, young Duncan dearn'd the wood, 
And den and cave search'd he ; 

Ah! he but found his Marion's lamb 
Under the greenwood tree. 

He claspt it in his arms, and took 

The silent mourner home : 
" O, now my mother ! feed this lamb. 

For I again must roam.;" 

" My boy," she said, " I gang wi' thee ; 

We'll seek the tint thegither ; 
She is thy love, she eke is mine, 

An' she loved me as a mither." 

Away, between the light and dark, 

The son and mother went; 
And long ere yet the sun was in 

The mist-veiled firmament, 

By Lemla's sluggish stream they stood, 

Beneath the fatal tree, 
Whereon the husband— father died, 

But not for felony. 

" Look up, my boy ! there is the tower 
That choked thy father's breath ! 

Hew down that branch ! for it maun help 
To do a deed of death ! 



154 



SCOTTISH BALLAPS. 



" By dawn o' morn, Earl Lindsaye took 

Your father frae my side, 
Because I wadna sair his lust 

Whan I was a young bride. 

" He hangit your father on that tree, 

Wi' this same widdie-raip ; 
The bloody Earl stood by the while, 

An' leugh at his death-gaip ! 

" Thy heart is bald, thy arm is Strang 

To wield this rung o' aik ; 
Beneath this tree, then, swear to me, 

Earl Lindsaye's life to take." 

An uncouth laugh burst from his heart, 

Then he his mother kiss'd : 
" That I will do, my mother dear, 

Or may I ne'er be blest!" 

The curse was out ! the murderer's days 

"Were numbered on the spot. 
The son and mother went their way 

To their secluded cot. 

The mist-cloud, floating o'er the vale, 

Seemed an aerial lake ; 
While on the dark blue hills afar 

The sun was seen to break. 

Up 'rose the kernes ; anon the reek 

From many a hut 'gan curl ; 
The strong and lusty steers were yoked 

By the bare-headed churl. 

Far west the hill a horn was blown, 
Till strath and mountain rang; 

Another from Phinaven's towers 
Answer'd with sullen twang. 

Earl Lindsaye heard, and curl'd his lip — 

He knew the distant horn ; 
And there were din and hurry in 

Phinaven's towers that morn : 

The clasping of maily armour on, 
And girding of glaive and sword; 

The warders trode, the Lindsayes rode 
O'er dyke, and ditch, and ford. 

First on the green, in his clotted mail, 

Earl Lindsaye stood, with his black blood- 
He cursed the groom for a lazy loon, [hound; 
And fell'd the caitiff to the ground ! 



He chid the sun as his rising ray 

Play'd on his visage dark, 
He fix'd his steel cap on his brow, 

And cursed the cheerful lark • 

The Lindsayes gather'd fast and strong 

On the smooth bowling-park: 
Their life was feud, and they joy 'd in blood— 

Their hearts and homes were dark. 

In breathless haste came from the west 

A simple peasant man : 
" Earl Airly is on Phinaven's hill, 

Wi' his brave hielan' clan." 

A cloud came o'er Earl Lindsaye's brow 
That struck the kerne with dread : 

" Now give the coward loon a groat, 
— But see you take his head !" 

Loud from the western bartizan, 

The warder blew his horn ; 
Answered another from the hill, 

Bold sounding scorn for scorn. 

With Airly and his merry knights 

The good old shepherd stood ; 
He had sought their aid to retrieve the maid — 

His Marion fair and good. 

Many and oft have sought the aid. 

Of the noble Ogilvie, 
Nor sought in vain — if gold or steel 

The applicant can free. 

Young Duncan 's out, the mother, too, 

Her silvan hovel leaves : 
" Eevenge ! revenge !" she cried, and fired 

The dark hut's broomy eaves. 

Quick spread the flame ! the rafters crack'd 1 

The wind burst from its cloud ; 
It caught the blaze and fired the trees;— 

The widow laugh'd aloud ! 

Thick from the den the adders sprang 

Across the beaten path ; 
Up rode the Lindsaye-clan, and saw 

The weird -hag in her wrath ! 

Her snakes twined round the black blood- 
And stung him to the death ! [hound, 

" Next Lindsaye dies !" the widow cries, 
"Follow me to the heath!" 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



155 



But, a stern Scot, his heart quail'd not : 
" Come on, brave knights ! with me; 

I have the will, but cannot kill 
That hag of devilry I" 

The chase was o'er : twa stags had bled, 

And red were horse and man ; 
Eode up the good and valiant knights, 

With Airly in the van. 

Arrayed they stood in bitter feud, 

And burning clan view'd clan ; 
"While Airly spoke : " Lord Lindsaye ! dost 

Thou ken this good old man ? 

" Know'st thou of his lost daughter fair ? 

If she be in thy power, 
Eestore her to her father's heart 

Within this very hour !" 

" Ha ! ha ! 'tis easy so to vaunt ! 

I love the peasant-girl. 
Proud Ogilvie ! be thine the plea 

Of the old craven churl." 

" Lord Lindsaye I nor hate nor fear ; 

Justice and God our word. 
Come on with me, my chivalry ! 

A good cause whets the sword." 

Quick as the red bolt from the cloud 
Flash'd glaive and sword from sheath ! 

While mid the host the weird crone rushed, 
And gave a pause to death. 

"Yet hear my prayer, thou murderer ! 

My curse be on thy head ! 
Thou shalt not die but by his hand 

Wham thou an orphan made 1" 

As bounds the lion from the copse, 
Young Duncan forward rushed • 

Thus challenged by a peasant youth, ' 
Blood-red the Lindsaye blushed. 

Now Airly 's kinsmen laugh'd outright 

The unequal match to see ; 
Which blew the fire of Lindsaye's ire 

Against the Ogilvie. 

" Come down, Earl Lindsaye!" Duncan cried, 
"An' shake a paw wi' me ! 
Oich ! gin ye winna wi' gude will, 
I'll help my lord a wee." 



By hoof and fetlock Duncan grasp'd 
Earl Lindsaye's foaming steed — 

Down horse and rider came ! The knights 
All mute beheld the deed. 

"Now draw the Tiger-Earl's braid sword 

Against mine aiken rung ! 
Ken ye this twig, ye murderer ? 

On it my dad ye hung. 

" On thee will I avenge his death, 
His wraith now gi'es me strength !" 

He struck Earl Lindsaye's flashing blade — 
A yard fell from its length. 

"Fling owre the craig that broken thing, 

As I toss my staff o' aik; 
Now you or 1 maun follow it 

For my murdered father's sake!" 

And now they grappled stiff and stern— 
They knew 'twas life or death ; 

But Duncan's hand was like a vice, 
His foot strong on the heath. 

Like friends they hug, like fiends they tug, 

And still, as bull-dogs, mute ; 
Till on the precipice is placed 

Earl Lindsaye's trembling foot ! 

Now bend they o'er the fearful crag- 
Full forty fathoms deep ! 

As if from hell the witch did yell, 
And sprang toward the steep I 

One o'er the brink is toppled down, 

The crash sounds horridly ! 
A shiver thrills the stoutest heart; 

The Lindsayes turn and flee. 

The widow howl'd an eldritch laugh,, 

Then wept for very joy; 
She thanked God ; she claspt her son, 

And call'd him gallant boy. 

" Now will your father's spirit rest; 

Now we ha'e won his love ; 
Nae mair he'll haunt the den unblest, 

But fly in his cloud above !" 

In durance-bower the shepherd's flower 
Lone drooping sheds the tear; 

The lover-youth, through ways uncouth 
Euns quick as hunted deer. 



166 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



The Lindsayes sly, in ambush lie : 
" He comes !" they softly cried, 

Six arrows stuck round Duncan's heart ! 
He jump'd — he fell — and died. 

Earl Airly, with his gallant knights, 

Stands by the castle-wall : 
By noble deed the maid is freed,— 

She saw the Lindsayes fall. 

Airly, the grateful blushing maid, 

To her glad father gave ; 
He on his knee blest the Ogilvie, 

The generous and the brave. 

" Now drive your flocks to Airly 's hills, 
And tend them there in peace ; 

And from this hour may tyrant power 
For aye in Scotland cease." 

" Haste ! burn that clog and bloody axe, 

And shut that hell of death ! 
That block no more shall drink man's gore, 

That dark pond drown his breath !" 

So Airly spoke ; then turned his steed 

From many a horrid sight. 
The battle won, o'er vale and dun 

Rode he with squire and knight. 

From war's alarms to love's soft charms 

Lady Airly hail'd her lord ; 
And with her fair hand wreathed green bays 

Around the chieftain's sword. 

In Airly's halls, in wassail glee, 

Is held the festal night ; 
Along the hills the pibroch trills, 

The Highland chief's delight. 

And in the hall the festival 

Is cheer'd by many a string: 
" In social life forget the strife," 

The wine-joy 'd minstrels sing. 



[From "A Legend of Montrose," where it is 
Baid to be a translation from the Gaelic, with, 
perhaps, about the same truth as Ossian is a 
translation.] 



November's hail-cloud drifts aWSy 9 

November's sunbeam wan 
Looks coldly on the castle grey, 

When forth comes lady Anne. 

The orphan by the oak was set, 

Her arms, her feet, were bare, 
The hail-drops had not melted yet, 

Amid her raven hair. 

" And, dame," she said, " by all the ties 

That child and mother know, 
Aid one who never knew these joyB, 

Relieve an orphan's woe." 

The lady said, "An orphan's state 

Is hard and sad to bear ; 
Yet worse the widow'd mother's fate, 

Who mourns both lord and heir. 

" Twelve times the rolling year has sped, 
Since when from vengeance wild 

Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled, 
Forth's eddies whelm'd my child." 

'* Twelve times the year its course has born** 

The wandering maid replied, 
" Since fishers on St Bridget's morn 

Drew nets on Campsie side. 

"St Bridget sent no scaly spoil;— 

An infant, wellnigh dead, 
They saved, and rear'd in want and toil, 

To beg from you her bread." 

That orphan maid the lady kiss'd — 
" My husband's looks you bear ; 

St Bridget and her morn be bless'd ! 
You are his widow's heir." 

They've robed that maid, so poor and pale, 

In silk and sandals rare; 
And pearls, for drops of frozen hail, 

Are glistening in her hair. 



[Modern Ballad. — William Anderson.] 

Through the wood, through the wood, 
Warbles the merle ! 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



15 



Through the wood, through the wood, 

Gallops the earl ! 
Yet he heads not its song 

As it sinks on his ear, 
For he lists to a voice 

Than its music more dear. 

Through the wood, through the wood, 

Once and away, 
The castle is gain'd, 

And the lady is gay : 
When her smile waxes sad, - 

And her eyes become dim ; 
Her bosom is glad, 

If she gazes on him ! 

Through the wood, through the wood, 

Over the wold, 
Rides onward a band 

Of true warriors bold • 
They stop not for forest, 

They halt not for water ; 
Their chieftain in sorrow 

Is seeking his daughter. 

Through the wood, through the wood, 

Warbles the merle ; 
Through the wood, through the wood, 

Prances the earl; 
And on a gay palfrey 

Comes pacing his bride ; 
While an old man sits smiling, 

In joy, by her side. 



®6* tta Ikotlw* 



[" The domestic tragedy which thi3 affecting 
ballad commemorates is not without a precedent 
in real history ; nay, we are almost inclined to 
believe that it originated in the following melan- 
choly event : — 

" ' This year, 1589, in the moneth of July, ther 
falls out a sad accident, as a further warneing 
that Cod was displeased with the familie. The 
Lord Somniervill haveing come from Cowthally, 
earlie in the morning, in regaird the weather 
was hott, he had ridden hard to be at the Drum 
be ten a clock, which having done, he laid him 




down to rest. The servant, with his two sones, 
William Master of Sommervill, and John his 
brother, went with the horses to ane Shctt of 
land, called the Prety Shott, directly opposite 
the front of the house where there was some 
meadow ground for grassing the horses, and 
willowes to shadow themselves from the heat. 
They had not long continued in this place, when 
the Master of Somervill efter some litle rest 
awakeing from his sleep and finding his pistolles 
that lay hard by him wett with the dew he began 
to rub and dry them, when unhappily one of 
them went off the ratch, being lying upon his 
knee, and the muzel turned side-ways, the ball 
strocke his brother John directly in the head, 
and killed him outright, soe that his sorrowful 
brother never had one word from him, albeit he 
begged it with many teares.' — Memorie of the 
Somervilles, Vol. I. p. 467. 

"The reader will find in the first volume of 
' Popular Ballads and Songs' another edition of 
this ballad, which, in point of merit, is perhaps 
superior to the present copy. The third stanza 
of that edition was however imperfect, and the 
ingenious editor, Mr Jamieson, has supplied four 
lines to render it complete. Excellent though 
his interpolations generally are, it will be seen 
that, in this instance, he has quite misconceived 
the scope and tendency of the piece on which he 
was working, and in consequence has supplied a 
reading with which the rest of his own copy is at 
complete variance, and which at same time 
sweeps away the deep impression this simple 
ballad would otherwise have made upon the 
feelings ; for it is almost unnecessary to mention 
that its touching interest is made to centre in 
the boundless sorrow, and cureless remorse, of 
him who had been the unintentional cause of 
his brother's death— and in the solicitude which 
that high-minded and generous spirit expresses, 
even in the last agonies of nature, for the safety 
and fortunes of the truly wretched and unhappy 
survivor. Mr Jamieson's addition is given 
below.*"— By that addition this ballad has been 
altered in one of its most distinctive and essen- 



* <« The addition to the stanza in question is inclosed 
by crotchets. 

They warstled up, they warstled down, 

The lee lang simmer's day : 
[And nane was near to part the strife 

That raise atween them tway, 
Till out and Willie's drawn the sword, 

And did his brother slay."] — Motherwell. 



© 



%Q 









153 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



tial features; hence the present copy, which 
preserves the genuine reading in the stanza 
referred to, though it might have derived con- 
siderable improvements in other particulars 
from the one given by Mr Jamieson, has, on the 
whole, been preferred." — Motherwell.] 

There were twa brothers at the scule, 

And when they got awa' — 
" It's will ye play at the stane-chucking, 

Or will ye play at the ba', 
Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, 

And there we'll warsell a fa'." 

" I winna play at the stane-chucking, 

Nor will I play at the ba', 
But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill, 

And there we'll warsel a fa'." 

They warsled up, they warsled down, 

Till John fell to the ground ; 
A dirk fell out of William's pouch, 

And gave John a deadly wound. 

" O lift me upon your back, 

Take me to yon well fair ; 
And wash my bloody wounds o'er and o'er, 

And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair." 

He's lifted his brother upon his back, 

Ta'en him to yon well fair ; 
He's wash'd his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er, 

But they bleed ay mair and mair. 

*' Tak' ye aff my Holland sark, 

And rive it gair by gair, 
And row it in my bluidy wounds, 

And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair." 

He's taken aff his Holland sark, 

And torn it gair by gair ; 
He's rowit it in his bluidy wounds, 

But they bleed ay mair and mair. 

** Tak' now aff my green cleiding, 

And row me saftly in ; 
And tak' me up to yon kirk style, 

Whare the grass grows fair and green." 




" What will ye say to your father dear 
When ye gae hame at e'en ?" 

" I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk style, 
Whare the grass grows fair and green. " 

" O no, no, my brother dear, 

O you must not say so ; 
But say that I'm gane to a foreign lacd; 

Whare nae man does me know." 

When he sat in his father's chair 
He grew baith pale and wan. 

e ' O what blude's that upon your brow? 
O dear son tell to me." 

'* It is the blude o' my gude gray steedj 
He wadna ride wi' me." 

" O thy steed's blude was ne'er sae red, 

Nor e'er sae dear to me : 
O what blude's this upon your cheek? 

O dear son tell to me." 
" It is the blude of my greyhound, 

He wadna hunt for me." 

" O thy hound's blude was ne'er sae red 3 

Nor e'er sae dear to me : 
O what blude's this upon your hand ? 

O dear son tell to me." 
" It is the blude of my gay goss hawk, 

He wadna flee for me." 

" O thy hawk's blude was ne'er sae red, 

Nor e'er sae dear to n:e : 
O what blude's this upon your dirk ? 

Dear Willie tell to me." 
(f It is the blude of my ae brother, 

dule and wae is me." 

" O what will ye say to your father ? 

Dear Willie tell to me." 
" I'll saddle my steed, and awa' I'll ride 

To dwell in some far countrie." 

" O when will ye come hame again ? 

Dear Willie tell to me." 
" When sun and mune leap on yon hill, 

And that will never be." 

She turn'd hersel' right round about. 

And her heart burst into three : 
" My ae best son is deid and gane, 

And my tother ane I'll ne'er see." 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



[Ftrst printed in Mr Buchan's Ancient Bal- 
lads and Songs.] 

The lady stands in her bower door, 
As straight as a willow wand; 

The blacksmith stood a little forebye, 
Wi' hammer in his hand. 

" Weel may ye dress ye, lady fair, 

Into your robes o' red, 
Before the morn at this same time, 

I'll loose your silken snood." 

" Awa', awa', ye coal-black smith, 

"Would ye do me the wrang, 
To think to gain my virgin love, 

That I ha'e kept sae lang ?" 

Then she has hadden up her hand, 

And she sware by the mold, 
" I wu'dna be a blacksmith's wife, 

For the full o' a chest o' gold, 

" I'd rather I were dead and gone, 

And my body laid in grave, 
Ere a rusty stock o' coal-black smith, 

My virgin love should have." 

But he has hadden up his hand, 

And he sware by the mass, 
I'll cause ye be my light leman, 

For the hauf o' that and less. 

Chorus. 

O bide, lady, bide, 

And aye he bade her bide ; 

The rusty smith your leman shall be, 
For a' your muckle pride. 

Then she became a turtle dow, 

To fly up in the air ; 
And he became another dow, 

And they flew pair and pair. 
O bide, lady, &c. 

She turn'd hersel' into an eel, 

To swim into yon burn ; 
And he became a speckled trout, 

To gi'e the eel a turn. 
O bide, lady, &c. 



Then she became a duck, a duck, 

Upon a reedy lake ; 
And the smith wi' her to soom or dive, 

Became a rose-kaim'd drake. 
O bide, lady, &c. 

She turn'd hersel' into a hare, 
To rin ower hill and hollow, 

And he became a gude grey hound, 
And boldly he did follow. 
O bide, lady, &c. 

Then she became a gay grey mare, 
And stood in yonder slack; 

And he became a gilt saddle, 
And sat upon her back. 

Chorus. 

"Was she wae, he held her sae, 
And still he bade her bide; 

The rusty smith her leman was, 
For a' her muckle pride. 

Then she became a het girdle, 

And he became a cake ; 
And a' the ways she turn'd hersel', 

The blacksmith was her make. 
Was she wae, &c. 

She turn'd hersel' into a ship, 

To sail out ower the flood i 
He ca'ed a nail intill her tail, 

And syne the ship she stood. 
"Was she wae, &c. 

Then she became a silken plaid, 

And stretch'd upon a bed ; 
And he became a green covering, 

And thus the twa were wed. 
Was she wae, &c. 



@S)£ patted %®faw&. 

[Fragment of a Scottish Ballad, by Rqeeri 
Tannahill.] 

" Wild drives the bitter northern blast, 
Fierce whirling wide the crispy snaw, 

Young lassie, turn your wand'ring steps, 
For e'ening's gloom begins to fa' : 






•^Q^i 



WlmJmA 



160 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" I'll take you to my father's ha', 
And shield you from the wintry air, 

For, wand'ring through the drifting snaw, 
I fear ye'll sink to rise nae mair." 

" Ah ! gentle lady, airt my way 
Across this langsome, lonely moor, 

For he wha's dearest to my heart, 
Now waits me on the western shore. 

" With morn he spreads his outward sail, 
This night I vow'd to meet him there, 

To take ae secret fond fareweel, 
We maybe part to meet nae mair." 

" Dear lassie, turn — 'twill be your dead 1 
The dreary waste lies far and wide ; 

Abide till morn, and then ye'll ha'e 
My father's herd-boy for your guide." 

" No, lady, — no ! I maun na turn, 
Impatient love now chides my stay, 

Yon rising moon, with kindly beam, 
Will light me on my weary way." 

(< Ah ! Donald, wherefore bounds thy heart! 

Why beams with joy thy wishful e'e ? 
Ton's but thy true love's fleeting form, 

Thy true love mair thou'lt never see. 

" Deep in the hollow glen she lies, 
Amang the snaw, beneath the tree, 

She soundly sleeps in death's cauld arms, 
A victim to her love for thee." 



[Modern Ballad. — Robsrt Allan of Kil- 
barchan.] 

Lord Ronald cam' to his lady's bower, 
When the moon was in her wane ; 

Lord Ronald cam' at a late, late hour, 
An' to her bower is gane. 

He saftly stept in his sandal shoon, 

An' saftly laid him down : 
" It's late, it's late, quoth Ellenore — 

Syne ye maun wauken soon J 



" Lord Ronald, stay till the early ecci 

Sail flap his siller wing I 
An' saftly ye maun ope the gate, 

An' loose the silken string." 

" O Ellenore, my fairest fair ! 

O Ellenore, my bride! 
How can ye fear, when my merry men a* 

Are on the mountain side ?" 

The moon was hid, the night was gane, 

But Ellenore's heart was wae : 
She heard the cock flap his siller wing, 

An' she watch'd the morning ray. 

" Rise up, rise up, Lord Ronald, dear S 

The morning opes its e'e; 
O speed thee to thy father's tower, 

An' safe, safe may thou be !" 

But there was a page, a little fause page, 

Lord Ronald did espy, 
An' he has told his baron all 

Where the hind and hart did lye. 

" It isna for thee, but thine, Lord Ronald— 

Thy father's deeds o' weir ! 
But since the hind has come to my fauld, 

His blood shall dim my spear." 

Lord Ronald kiss'd fair Ellenore, 

An' press'd her lily hand ; 
Sic a stately knight an" comely dame 

Ne'er met in wedlock's band : 

But the baron watch'd as he rais'd the latch 

An' kiss'd again his bride, 
An' with his spear, in deadly ire, 

He pierc'd Lord Ronald's side. 

The life-blood fled frae fair Ellenore's cheek 

She look'd all wan an' 'ghast ; 
She lean'd her down by Lord Ronald's side, 

An' the blood was rinnin' fast: 

She clasped his hand an' she kiss'd his lip, 

As she sigh'd her last adieu ; 
For never, O never did lady love 

Her lord with a heart so true 1 



■fiL-'-^ 




[From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— 
"This Ballad," says Sir Walter, "was com- 
municated to the editor by Mr Hamilton, music- 
seller, Edinburgh, with whose mother it had 
been a favourite. Two verses and one line were 
wanting, which are here supplied from a diffe- 
rent Ballad, having a plot somewhat similar. 
These verses are the 6th and 9th."] 

'Twas on a night, an evening bright, 

When the dew began to fa', 
Lady Margaret was walking up and down, 

Looking o'er her castle wa". 

She looked east, and she looked west, 

To see what she could spy. 
When a gallant knight came in her sight, 

And to the gate drew nigh. 

" You seem to be no gentleman, 

You wear your boots so wide ; 
But you seem to be some cunning hunter, 

You wear the horn so syde." 

"I am no cunning hunter," he said, 

" Nor ne'er intend to be ; 
But I am come to this castle 

To seek the love of thee ; 
And if you do not grant me love, 

This night for thee I'll die." 

" If you should die for me, sir knight, 

There's few for you will mane, 
For mony a better has died for me, 

Whose graves are growing green. 

" But ye maun read my riddle," she said, 
" And answer my questions three; 

And but ye read them right," she said, 
" Gae stretch ye out and die. — 

" Now what is the flower, the ae first flower, 
Springs either on moor or dale .-> 

And what is the bird, the bonnie bonnie bird, 
Sings on the evening gale ?." 

'The primrose is the ae first flower, 

Springs either on moor or dale ; 
And the thistlecock is the bonniest bird, 
Sings on the evening gale." 



" But what's the little coin," she said, 

" Wald buy my castle bound ? 
And what's the little boat," she said, 

" Can sail the world all round ?" 

"O hey, how mony small pennies 
Make thrice three thousand pound ? 

Or hey, how mony small fishes 
Swim a' the salt sea round i"' 

" I think ye maun be my match," she said, 
" My match, and something mair, 

You are the first e'er got the grant 
Of love frae my father's heir. 

" My father was lord of nine castles, 

My mother lady of three ; 
My father was lord of nine castles, 

And there's nane to heir but me. 

" And round about a' thae castles, 

You may baith plow and saw, 
And on the fifteenth day of May, 

The meadows they will maw." 

** hald your tongue, lady Marg'ret," he 
For loud I hear you lie ! [said, 

Your father was lord of nine castles, 
Your mother was lady of three ; 

Your father was lord of nine castles, 
But ye fa' heir to but three. 

" And round about a' thae castles, 
You may baith plow and saw, 

But on the fifteenth day of May 
The meadows will not maw. 

" I am your brother Willie," he said, 

" I trow ye ken na me ; 
I came to humble your haughty heart, 

Has gar'd sae monie die." 

" If ye be my brother Willie," she said, 

" As I trow weel ye be, 
This night I'll neither eat nor drink, 

But gae alang wi' thee." 

" O hald your tongue, lady Marg'ret," he 
" Again I hear you lie ; [said, 

For ye've unwashen hands, and ye've un- 
To gae to clay wi' me. [washen feet,* 



* Unwashen hands and unwashen feet — Allud- 
ing to the custom of washing and dressing dead 
bodies. — Scott. 



SCOTTISH BALLAD3. 



" For the wee worms are my bed-fellows, 
And cauld clay is my sheets ; 

And when the stormy winds do blow, 
My body lies and sleeps." 



J [This Ballad, similar in incident to the pre- 
°J-» (<R\ ceding, but more complete in narrative, is given 
^V in Mr Buchan's Collection.] 

There was a knight, in a summer's night, 

Appear'd in a lady's hall, 
As she was walking up and down, 

Looking o'er her castle wall. 

" God make you safe and free, fair maid, 
God make you safe and free !** 

" O sae fa' you, ye courteous knight, 
What are your wills wi' me ?" 

" My wills wi* you are not sma', lady, 

My wills wi' you nae sma' ; 
And since there's nane your bower within, 

Ye'se ha'e my secrets a'. 

" For here am I a courtier, 

A courtier come to thee ; 
And if ye winna grant your love, 

All for your sake I'll dee." 

" If that ye dee for me, sir knight, 
Few for you will make meen ; 
~Z3j For mony gude lord's done the same, 
Their graves are growing green." 

" winna ye pity me, fair maid, 
O winna ye pity me ? 

winna ye pity a courteous knight, 
Whose love is laid on thee ?" 

'* Ye say ye are a courteous knight, 
But I think ye are nane ; 

1 think ye're but a miller bred, 
By the colour o' your claithing. 

" You seem to be some false young man, 
You wear your hat sae wide ; 

You seem to be some false young man, 

You wear your boots sae side." < 



" Indeed I am a courteous knight, 

And of great pedigree ; 
Nae knight did mair for a lady bright 

Than I will do for thee. 

" O, I'll put smiths in your smithy, 

To shoe for you a steed ; 
And 1 11 put tailors in your bower, 

To make for you a weed. 

" I will put cooks in your kitchen, 

And butlers in your ha' ; 
And on the tap o' your father's castle, 

I'll big gude corn and saw." 

" If ye be a courteous knight, 

As I trust not ye be ; 
Ye'll answer some o' the sma' questions 

That I will ask at thee. 

" What is the fairest flower, tell me, 

That grows in mire or dale ? 
Likewise, which is the sweetest bird 

Sings next the nightingale ? 
Or what's the finest thing," she says, 

" That king or queen can wale . J " 

" The primrose is the fairest flower, 

That grows in mire or dale ; 
The mavis is the sweet st bird 

Next to the nightingale ; 
And yellow gowd's the finest thing 

That king or queen can wale. 

" Ye ha'e asked many questions, lady, 

I've you as many told ; 
But, how many pennies round 

Make a hundred pounds in gold ? 

" How many of the small fishes 
Do swim the salt seas round ? 

Or, what's the seemliest sight you'll set) 
Into a May morning ?'* 

" Berry-brown ale and a birken speal, 

And wine in a horn green ; 
A milk-white lace in a fair maid's dress, 

Looks gay in a May morning." 

" Mony's the questions I've ask'd at thee. 

And ye've answer'd them a' ; 
Ye are mine, and 1 am thine, 

Amo' the sheets sae sma'. 




" You may be my match, kind sir, 
You may be my match and more ; 

There ne'er was ane came sic a length, 
Wi' my father's heir before. 

" My father's lord o' nine castles, 
My mother she's lady ower three, 

And there is nane to heir them all, 
No never a ane but me ; 

Unless it be Willie, my ae brother, 
But he's far ayont the sea." 

"If your father's laird o' nine castles, 

Your mother lady ower three ; 
I am Willie your ae brother, 

Was far beyond the sea." 

" If ye be Willie, my ae brother, 

As I doubt sair ye be ; 
But if it's true ye tell me now, 

This night I'll gang wi' thee." 

" Ye've ower ill washen feet, Janet, 

And ower ill washen hands, 
And ower coarse robes on your body, 

Alang wi' me to gang. 

" The worms they are my bed-fellows, 

And the cauld clay my sheet ; 
And the higher that the wind does blaw, 

The sounder I do sleep. 

" My body's buried in Dumfermline, 

And far beyond the sea ; 
But day nor night, nae rest could get, 

All for the pride o' thee. 

" Leave aff your pride, jelly Janet," he says, 

" Use it not ony mair ; 
Or when ye come where I ha'e been 

You will repent it sair. 

( " Cast aff, cast aff, sister," he says, 
" The gowd lace frae your crown ; 

For if ye gang where I ha'e been, 
Ye'll wear it laigher down. 

" When ye're in the gude church set, 

The gowd pins in your hair; 
Ye take mair delight in your feckless dress, 

Than ye do in your morning prayer. 




" You're straight and tall, handsome withail, / 
But your pride owergroes your wit ; 

But if ye do not your ways refrain, 
In Pirie s chair ye'll sit. 

" In Pirie's chair you'll sit, I say, 

The lowest seat o* hell; 
If ye do not amend your ways, 

It's there that ye must dwell." 

Wi' that he vanish'd frae her sight, 

Wi' the twinkling o' an eye ; 
Naetbing mair the lady saw, 

But the gloomy clouds and sky. 



[From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. — 
(t This ballad," says Sir Walter, " is a northern 
composition, and seems to have been the original 
of the legend called Sir Aldingar, which is print- 
ed in the Reliques of Antient Poetry. The inci- 
dents are nearly the same in both ballads, ex- 
cepting that, in Aldingar, an angel combats for 
the queen, instead of a mortal champion. The 
names of Aldingar and Rodingham approach 
near to each other in sound, though not in or' 
thography, and the one might, by reciters, be 
easily substituted for the other. I think I have 
seen both the name and the story in an ancient 
prose chronicle, but am unable to make any re- 
ference in support of my belief. The tradition, 
upon which the ballad is founded, is universally 
current in the Mearns; and the editor is inform- 
ed, that, till very lately, the sword, with which 
Sir Hugh le Blond was believed to have defended 
the life and honour of the queen, was carefully 
preserved by his descendants, the viscounts of 
Arbuthnot. That Sir Hugh of Arbuthnot lived 
in the thirteenth century, is proved by his hav- 
ing, in 1282, bestowed the patronage of the 
church of Garvoch upon the monks of Aber- 
broth wick, for the srdety cf his soul. — Register oi 
Aberbrothwick, quoted by Crawford in Peerage. 
But I find no instance in history, in which the 
honour of a queen of Scotland was committed to 
the chance of a duel. It is true, that Mary, wife 
of Alexander II., was, about 1242, somewhat 
implicated in a dark story, concerning the mar« 
der of Patrick, earl of A thole, burned in his 
lodging at Haddington, where he had 





% 




attend a great tournament. The relations of^ 
the deceased baron accused of the murder Sir !' 
William Bisat, a powerful nobleman, who ap- I 
pears to have been in such high favour with the 
young queen, that she offered her oath, as a 
compurgator, to prove his innocence. Bisat 
himself stood upon his defence, and proffered 
the combat to his accusers ; but he was obliged 
to give way to the tide, and was banished from 
Scotland. This affair interested all the northern 
barons; and it is not impossible, that some 
share, taken in it by this Sir Hugh de Arbuth- 
not, may have given a slight foundation for the 
tradition of the country. — Wintoun, book vii. 
ch. 9. Or, if we suppose Sir Hugh le Blond to be 
a predecessor of the Sir Hugh who flourished in 
the thirteenth century, he may have been the 
victor in a duel, shortly noticed as having oc- 
curred in 1154, when one Arthur, accused of 
treason, was unsuccessful in his appeal to the 
judgment of God. Arthurus regem Malcolm 
proditurus duello periit. Chron. Sanctas Crucis, 
ap. Anglia Sacra, vol. I. p. 161. 

" But, true or false, the incident, narrated in 
the ballad, is in the genuine style of chivalry. 
Romances abound with similar instances, nor 
are they wanting in real history. The most 
solemn part of a knight's oath was to defend 
'all widows, orphelines, and maidens of gude 
fame.'*— Lindsay's Heraldry, MS. The love of 
arms was a real passion of itself, which blazed 
yet more fiercely when united with the enthusi- 
astic admiration of the fair sex. The knight of 
Chaucer exclaims, with chivalrous energy, 



It was an argument, seriously urged by Sir 
John of Heinault, for making war upon Edward 
II., in behalf of his banished wife, Isabella, that 
knights were bound to aid, to their uttermost 
power, all distressed damsels, living without 
council or comfort. 

" An apt illustration of the ballad would have 
been the combat, undertaken by three Spanish 



* Such an oath is still taken by the Knights of the 
Bath; but, I believe, few of that honourable brother- 
hood will now consider it quite so obligatory as the 
conscientious Lord Herbert of Cherbury, who gravely 
alleges it as a sufficient reason for having challenged 
divers cavaliers, that they had either snatched from a 
lady her bouquet, or ribband, or, by some discourtesy 
of similar importance, placed her, as his lordship 
conceived, in the predicament of a distressed damo- 
iell. — Scott. 



champions against three Moors of Granada, in 
defence of the honour of the queen of Granada, 
wife to Mohammed Chiquito, the last monarch 
of that kingdom. But I have not at hand Las 
Guerras Civiles de Granada, in which that 
achievement is recorded. Raymond Berenger, 
count of Barcelona, is also said to have defended, 
in single combat, the life and honour of the 
empress Matilda, wife of the emperor Henry V., 
and mother to Henry II. of England.— See An- 
tonio Ulloa, del vero Honore Militare, Venice, 
1569. 

" A less apocryphal example is the duel, fought 
in 1387, betwixt Jaques le Grys and John de 
Carogne, before the king of France. These 
warriors were retainers of the earl of Alengon, 
and originally sworn brothers. John de Carogne 
went over the sea for the advance. rent of his 
fame, leaving in his castle a beautiful wife, 
where she lived soberly and sagely. But the 
devil entered into the heart of Jaques le Grys, 
and he rode, one morning, from the earl's house 
to the castle of his friend, where he was hospita- 
bly received by the unsuspicious lady. He re- 
quested her to show him the donjon, or keep of 
the castle, and in that remote and inaccessible 
tower forcibly violated her chastity. He then 
mounted his horse, and returned to the earl of 
Alenfion within so short a space, that his absence 
had not been perceived. The lady abode within 
the donjon, weeping bitterly, and exclaiming, 
'Ah Jaques! it was not well done thus to 
shame me ! but on you shall the shame rest, if 
God send my husband safe home!' The lady 
kept secret this sorrowful deed until her hus- 
band's return from his voyage. The day passed, 
and night came, the knight went to bed ; but the 
lady would not; for ever she blessed herself, 
and walked up and down the chamber, studying 
and musing, until her attendants had retired ; 
and then, throwing herself on her knees before 
the knight, she showed him all the adventure. 
Hardly would Carogne believe the treachery of his 
companion : but when convinced, he replied, 
' Since it is so, lady, I pardon you ; but the 
knight shall die for this villanous deed. Ac- 
cordingly, Jaques le Grys was accused of the 
crime, in the court of the earl of Alengon. But, 
as he was greatly loved of his lord, and as the 
I evidence was very slender, the earl gave judg- 
, ment against the accusers. Hereupon John 
I Carogne appealed to the parliament of Paris; 
• which court, after full consideration, appointed 
i the case to be tried by mortal combat betwixt 






the parties, John Carogne appearing as the 
champion of his lady. If he failed in his com- 
bat, then was he to be hanged, and his lady 
burned, as false and unj ust calumniators. This 
combat, under circumstances so very peculiar, 
attracted universal attention ; in so much, that 
the king of France and his peers, who were then 
in Flanders, collecting troops for an invasion of 
England, returned to Paris, that so notable a 
duel might be fought in the royal presence. 
' Thus the kynge, and his uncles, and the con- 
stable, came to Parys. Then the lystes were 
made in a place called Saynt Katheryne, behinde 
the Temple. There was soo moche people, that 
it was mervayle to beholde ; and on the one side 
of the lystes there was made gret scaffoldes, that 
the lordes might the better se the batayle of the 
ii champions ; and so they bothe came to the 
felde, armed at all peaces, and there eche of 
them was set in theyr chayre; the erle of Saynt 
Poule gouverned John Carongne, and the erle of 
Alanson's company with Jacques le Grys ; and 
when the knyght entred in to the felde, he 
came to his wyfe, who was there syttynge in a 
chayre, covered in blacke, and he sayd to her 
thus : — " Dame, by your informacyon, and in 
your quarrell, 1 do put my lyfe in adventure, as 
to fyght with Jacques le Grys ; ye knowe, if the 
cause be just and true." — " Syr," said the lady, 
" it is as I have sayd ; wherefore ye may fyght 
surely ; the cause is good and true." "With these 
wordes, the kn.vghte kissed the lady, and toke 
her by the hande, and then blessed hym, and soo 
entred into the felde. The Lidy sate styll in the 
blacke chayre, in her prayers to God, and to the 
vyrgyne Mary, humbly prayenge them, by theyr 
specyall grace, to send her husband the victory, 
accordynge to the ryght. She was in gret hevy- 
nes, for she was not sure of her lyfe ; for, if her 
husbande sholde have been diseomfyted, she was 
judged, without remedy, to be brente, and her 
husbande hanged. I cannot say whether she 
repented her or not, as the matter was so for- 
warde, that both she and her husbande were in 
grete peryll : howbeit, fynally, she must as then 
abyde the adventure. Then these two chain - 
pyons were set one against another, and so 
mounted on theyr horses, and bebauved them 
nobly ; for they knewe what perteyned to deedes 
of armes. There were many lordes. and knyghtes 
of Fraunce, that were come thyder to se that 
batayle. The two champyons justed at theyr 
fyrst metyng, but none of them dyd hurte other; 
and, after the justes, they lyghted on foote to a 



perfourme theyr batayle, and soo fought val- 
yauntly. — And fyrst, John of Carongne was hurt 
in the thyghe, whereby all his frendes were in 
grete fere; but, after that, he fought so val- 
yauntly, that he bette down his adversary to the 
erthe, and threst his swerd in his body, and soo 
slew hym in the felde ; and then he demaunded, 
if he had done his devoyre or not ? and they an- 
swered, that he had valyauntly atchieved his 
batayle. Then Jacques le Grys was delyuered to 
the hangman of Parys, and he drewe hym to the 
gybbet of Mountfawcon, and there hanged him 
up. Then John of Carongne came before the 
kynge, and kneled downe, and the kynge made 
him to stand up before hym; and, the same 
daye, the kynge caused to be delyvred to him a 
thousande franks, and reteyned him to be of his 
chambre, with a pencyon of ii hundred pounde 
by yere, durynge the term of his lyfe. Then he 
thanked the kynge and the lordes, and went to 
his wyfe, and kissed her ; and then they wente 
togyder to the chyrche of our ladye in Parys, and 
made theyr offerynge, and then retourned to 
theyr lodgynges. Then this Sir John of Carongne 
taryed not longe in Fraunce, but went, with Syr 
John Boucequant, Syr John of Bordes, and Syr 
Loys Grat. All these went to se Lamorabaquyn,* 
of whome, in those dayes, there was moch spek- 
ynge.' 

"Such was the readiness, with which, in those 
times, heroes put their lives in jeopardy, for 
honour and lady's sake. But I doubt whether 
the fair dames of the present day will think, that 
the risk of being burned, upon eve;y suspicion of 
frailty, could be altogether compensated by the 
probability, that a husband of good faith, like 
John de Carogne, or a disinterested champion, 
like Hugh le Blond, would take up the gauntlet 
in their behalf. I fear they will rather accord to 
the sentiment of the hero of an old romance, 
who expostulates thus with a certain duke : 

' Certes, sir duke, thou doest unright, 
To make a roast of your daughter bright ; 
I wot you ben unkind. 5 

Amis and Amelion. 

" I was favoured with the following copy of 
Sir Hugh le Blond by K. Williamson Eurnet, 
Esq. of Monboddo, who wrote it down from the 
recitation of an old woman, long in the service 



* This name Froissart gives to the famous Mano- 
met. emperor of Turkey, called the Great. It is a cor- 
ruption of his Persian title, Ameer Uddeen Kawn. 






PW4 






c$ 



of the Arbuthnot family. Of course the diction 
is very much humbled, and it has, in all proba- 
bility, undergone many corruptions; but its an- 
tiquity is indubitable, and the story, though 
indifferently told, is in itself interesting. It 
is believed, that there have been many more 
verses."] 

The birds sang sweet as ony bell, 
The world had not their make, 

The queen she's g ne to her chamber, 
With Rodingham to talk. 

" I love you well, my queen, my dame, 

'Bove land and rents so clear. 
And for the love of you, my queen, 

"Would thole pain most severe." 

"' If well you love me, Rodingham, 

I'm sure so do 1 thee : 
I love you well as any man, 

Save the king's fair bodye." 

u I love you well, my queen, my dame ; 

'Tis truth that I do tell : 
And for to lye a night with you, 

The salt seas I would sail." 

** Away, away, Rodingham ! 

You are buth stark and stoor ; 
Would you defile the king's own bed, 

And make his queen a whore ? 

" To-morrow you'd be taken sure, 

And like a traitor slain ; 
And I'd be burned at a stake, 

Although I be the queen." 

He then stepp'd out at her room -door, 

All in an angry mood; 
Until he met a leper-man,* 

Just by the hard way-side. 

He intoxicate the leper*man 

With liquors very sweet; 
And gave him more and more to drink, 

Until he fell asleep. 



* Filth, poorness of living, and want of linen, 
made this horrible disease formerly very common 
in Scotland. Robert Bruce died of the leprosy ; 
and, through all Scotland, there were hospitals 
erected for the reception of lepers, to prevent 
their mingling-with the community —Scott. 



He took him in his arms two, 

And carried him along, 
Till he came to the queen's own bed, 

And there he laid him down. 

He then stepp'd out of the queen's bower, 

As swift as any roe, 
'Till he came to the very place 

Where the king himself did go. 

The king said unto Rodingham, 
" What news have you to me ?" 

He said, " Your queen*s a false woman, 
As I did plainly see." 

He hasten'd to the queen's chamber, 

So costly and so fine, 
Until he came to the queen's own bed, 

Where the leper-man was lain. 

He looked on the leper-man, 
Who lay on his queen's bed ; 

He lifted up the snaw-white sheets, 
And thus he to him said : 

" Plooky, plooky, are your cheeks. 

And plooky is your chin, 
And piuoky are jour arms two 

My bonnie queen's layne in. 

" Since she has lain into your arms, 

she shall not lye in mine ; 
Since she has kiss'd your ugsome mouth, 

She never shall kiss mine." 

In anger he went to the queen, 

Who fell upon her knee ; 
He said, " You false, unchaste woman, 

What's this you've done to me?" 

The queen then turn'd herself about, 

The tear blinded her e'e-^- 
" There's not a knight in a' your court 

Dare give that name to me." 

He said, " 'Tis true that I do say ; 

For I a proof did make : 
You shall be taken from my bower, 

And burned at a stake. 

" Perhaps I'll take my word again, 

And may repent the same, 
If that you'll get a Christian man 

To fight that Rodingham." 





" Alas ! alas !" then cried our queen, 

" Alas, and woe to me ! 
There's not a man in all Scotland 

Will fight with him for me." 

She breathed unto her messengers, 
Sent them south, east, and west; 

They could find none to fight with him, 
Nor enter the contest. 

She breathed on her messengers, 

she sent them to the north; 
And there they found Sir Hugh le Blond, 

To fight him he came forth. 

"When unto him they did unfold 

The circumstance all right, 
He bade them go and tell the queen, 

That for her he would fight. 

The day came on that was to do 

That dreadful tragedy ; 
Sir Hugh le Blond was not come up 

To fight for our lady. 

" Put on the fire," the monster said ; 

" It is twelve on the bell !" 
" 'Tis scarcely ten, now," said the king;* 

" I heard the clock myser." 

Before the hour the queen is brought, 

The burning to proceed ; 
In a black velvet chair she's set, 

A token for the dead. 

She saw the flames ascending high, 

The tears blinded her e'e : 
" Where is the worthy knight," she said, 

" Who is to fight for me ?" 

Then up and spake the king himsel', 

" My dearest have no doubt, 
For jonder comes the man himsel', 

As bold as e'er set out." 

They then advanced to fight the duel 
With swords of tempered steel, 

Till down the blood of Rodingham 
Came running to his heel. 

* In the romance of Doolin, called La Fleur 
des Battailles, a false accuser discovers a similar 
impatience to hurry over the execution, before 
ti.c arrival of the lady's champion.— Scott, 



Sir Hugh took out a lusty sword, 

'Twas of the metal clear ; 
And he has pierced Rodingham 

Till's heart-blood did appear. 

" Confess your treachery, now," he said, 

" This day before you die !" 
'* I do confess my treachery, 

I shall no longer lye : 

" I like to wicked Haman am, 

This day I shall be slain." 
The queen was brought to her chamber, 

A good woman again. 

The queen then said unto the king, 

" Arbattle's near the sea, 
Give it unto the northern knight, 

That this day fought for me." 

Then said the king, " Come here, sir knight, 

And drink a glass of wine ; 
And, if Arbattle's not enough, 

To it we'll Fordoun join."f 



[From Buchan's Collection.] 

" woe is me, the time draws nigh 

My love and I must part; 
No one doth know the cares and fears 

Of my poor troubled heart. 

"Already I have suffered much, 
Our parting cost me dear ; 

Unless 1 were to go with you, 
Or you to tarry here. 

u My heart is fixed within his breast, 
And that he knows right well ; 

I fear that I some tears will shed, 
When 1 bid you farewell. 



fee-m 



t Arbattle is the ancient name of the barony ..> 
of Arbutbnot. — Fordun has long been the patri- H| 
se mony of the same family.— Seott, 



" When I bid you farewell," she said, 

" This day, and woe is me ; 
And cauld and shrill the wind blows still, 

Between my love and me. 

" The hat my love wears on his head, 

It's not made of the woo ; 
But it is o' the silk so fine, 

And becomes his noble brow. 

" His eyes do wink, and aye so jimp, 
His hair shines like the broom ; 

And I would not gi'e my laddie's love 
For a' the wealth in Rome." 

He said, " Farewell, my dearest dear, 

Since from you 1 must go ; 
Let ne'er your heart be full of grief, 

Nor anguish make you woe. 

" If life remains, I will return, 

And bear you companie ;'•' 
Now cauld and shrill the wind blows still 

Between my love and me. 

" His bonnie middle is so well made, 
His shoulders brave and braid ; 

Out of my mind he'll never be 
Till in my grave I'm laid. 

" Till I'm in grave laid low," she says, 

" Alas ! and woe is me ; 
Now cauld and raw, the wind does blaw, 

Between my lo^e and me. 

" Some do mourn for oxen," she said, 
" And others mourn for kye; 

And some do mourn for dowie death, 
But none for love but I. 

" What need I make all this din, 

For this will never dee ; 
And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still 

Between my love and me." 

She's ta'en her mantle her about, 

And sat down by the shore, 
In hopes to meet with some relief, 

But still her grief grew more. 

" O I'll sit here while my life's in, 

Until the day 1 die; 
O cauld and shrill the wind blaws still 

Between my love and me. 



" O see ye not yon bonnie ship, 

She's beauteous to behold ; 
Her sails are of the tafety fine, 

Her topmasts shine like gold. 

" In yonder ship my love does skip, 

And quite forsaken me ; 
And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still 

Between my love and me. 

" My love he's neither laird nor lord, 

Nor ane of noble kin ; 
But my bonnie love, the sailor bold, 

Is a poor millar's son. 

" He is a millar's son," she says, 

" And will be till he die; 
And cauld and shrill the wind b'.aws stil 

Between my love and me. 

" My love he's bound to leave the land, 

And cross the watery faem ; 
And the bonnie ship my love sails in, 

The Goldspink is her name. 

" She sails mair bright than Phoebus fair 

Out o'er the raging sea; 
And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still 

Between my love and me. 

" He promised to send letters to me, 
Ere six months they were gone; 

But now nine months they are expired, 
And I've received none. 

" So 1 may sigh, and say, alas ! 

This day, and woe is me ; 
And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still 

Between my love and me. 

" I wish a stock-stone aye on earth, 

And high wings on the sea; 
To cause my true love stay at home, 

And no more go from me. 

" What needs me for to wish in vain ? 

Such things will never be; 
The wind blaws sair in every where 

Between my love and me." 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






/Pi 



c* 



PART SECOND. 

A bonnie boy the ballad read, 

Forbade them sair to lie ; 
She was a lady in Southland town, 

Her name was Barbarie. 

She thought her love abroad was gone, 

Beyond the raging sea; 
But there was nae mair between them twa, 

Than a green apple tree. 

" Cheer up your heart, my clearest dear, 

No more from you I'll part; 
I'm come to ease the cares and fears 

Of your poor troubled heart. 

" All for my sake ye've suffer'd much, 

I'm come to cherish thee ; 
And now we've met, nae mair to part, 

Until the day we die. 

" I wish'd your face was set in glass, 

That I might it behold ; 
And the very letters of your name, 

Were wrote in beaten gold. 

" That I the same might bear about, 
Through many strange countrie; 

But now we're met, nae mair to part, 
Until the day we die. 

" Here is a ring the pledge of love, 

I still will you adore ; 
Likewise a heart that none can move, 

A prince can give no more. 

" A prince can give no more, my love, 

Than what 1 give to thee ; 
Now we are met, nae mair to part, 

Until the day we die. 

" I promised to send letters to thee, 
Ere six months they were gone ; 

But now nine months they are expired, 
And I'm returned home. 

" Now from the seas I am return'd, 

My dear, to comfort thee ; 
And now we're met, nae mair to part, 

Until the day we die. 




" Ye say I'm neither laird nor lord, . 

Nor one of noble kin ; 
But ye say I'm a sailor bold, 

But and a millar's son. 

" When ye come to my father's mill, 
Ye shall grind muture free ; 

Now we're met, nae mair to part, 
Until the day we die. 

" Ye say I'm bound to leave the land, 
And cross the watery faem; 

The shi that your true love commands, 
The Goldspink is her name, 

" Though I were heir o'er all Scotland, 

Ye should be lady free ; 
And now we're met, nae mair to part, 

Until the day we die." 



[From Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs 
of the North of Scotland.] 

" O come along wi' me, brother, 

Now come along wi' me ; 
And we'll gae seek our sister Maisry 

Into the water o' Dee." 

The eldest brother he stepped in, 

He stepped to the knee , 
Then out he jump'd upo' the bank, 

Says, " This water's nae for me." 

The second brother he stepped in, 

He stepped to the quit ; 
Then out he jump'd upo' the bank, 

Says, " This water's wond'rous deep." 

When the third brother stepped in, 

He stepped to the chin ; 
Out he got, and forwa. d wade, 

For fear o' drowning him. 

The youngest brother he stepp'd in, 

Took 's sister by the hand ; 
S:iid, " Here she is my sister Maisry, 
> Wi' the hinny draps on her chin. 



" if I were in some bonnie ship, 
And in some strange countrie, 

For to find out some conjurer, 
To gar Maisry speak to me." 

Then out it speaks an auld woman, 

As she was passing by; 
"Ask of your sister what you want, 

And she will speak to thee." 

" sister, tell me who is the man 

That did your body win ? 
And who is the wretch, tell me, likewise, 

That threw you in the lin ?" 

" Bondsey was the only man 

That did my body win ; 
And likewise Bondsey was the man 

That threw me in the lin." 

" will we Bondsey head, sister ? 

Or will we Bondsey hang ? 
Or will we set him at our bow end, 

Lat arrows at him gang ?" 

" Ye winna Bondsey head, brothers, 

Nor will ye Bondsey hang ; 
But ye'll take out his twa grey e'en, 

Make Bondsey blind to gang. 

" Ye'll put to the gate a chain o' gold, 

A rose garland gar make; 
And ye'll put that in Boudsey's head 

A' for your sister's sake." 



[From Buchan's Collection.] 

Chil Ether and lady Maisry 
Were baith born at ae birth ; 

They lov'd each other tenderlie, 
'Boon every thing on earth. 

The ley likes na the summer shower, 
Nor girse the mornin' dew, 

Better, dear lady Maisry, 
Than Chil Ether loves you. 



The bonnie doo likes na its mate, 
Nor babe, at breast, its mither, 

Better, my dearest Chil Ether, 
Than Maisry loves her brither. 

But he needs gae to gain renown, 

Into some iar countrie; — 
And Chil Ether has gaen abroad, 

To fight in Payuimie. 

And he has been in Paynimie 

A twalmonth and a day ; 
But never nae tidings did there come, 

Of his welfare to say. 

Then she's ta'en ship, awa* to sail, 
Out ower the roaring faem ; 

A 5 for to find him, Chil Ether, 
And for to bring him hame. 

She hadna sail'd the sea a month, 
A month but barely three ; 

Until she landit on Ciper's shore, 
By the moon-licht sae lie. 

Lady Maisry did on her green mantle, 
Took her purse in her band; 

And call'd to her, her mariners, 
Syne walk'd up through the land. 

She walked up, sae did she down, 
Till she came till castell high ; 

There she sat down, on the door stane 
And weepit bitterlle. 

Then out it spake a sweet, sweet voice, 
Out ower the castell wa'; — 

" Now isna that lady Maisry 
That makes sic a dolefu' fa' ? 

" But gin that be lady Maisry, 
Lat her make mirth and glee; 

For I'm her brother, Chil Ether, 
That loves her tenderlie. 

" But gin that be lady Maisry, 
Lat her take purse in hand ; 

And gang to yonder castell wa', 
They call it Gorinand • 

" Speir for the lord o' that castell, 
Gie'm dollars thirty-three ; 

Tell him to ransom Chil Ether, 
That loves you tenderlie." 










She's done her up to that castell, 
Paid down her gude monie ; 

And sae she's ransom'd Chil Ether, 
And brought him hame her wi'. 



[From " A North Countrie Garland," (Edin- 
burgh, 1823 ) where the Editor says he is unac- 
quainted with the circumstances that gave rise 
to the ballad.] 

Thomas Stuart was a lord, 

A lord of mickle land; 
He used to wear a coat of gold, 

But now his grave is green. 

Now he has wooed the young Countess, 

The Countess of Balquhin, 
And given her for a morning gift, 

Strathbogie and Aboyne. 

But woman's wit is aye wilful, 

Aias ! that ever it was sae, 
She long'd to see the morning gift, 

That her good lord to her ga'e. 

When steeds were saddled and weel bridled, 

A. n' ready for to ride, 
There came a pain on that gude lord, 

His back likewise his side. 

He said, " Ride on, my lady fair, 

May goodness be your guide, 
For I am so sick and weary that 

No farther can I ride." 

Now ben did come his father dear, 

Wearing a golden band, 
Says, " Is there na leech in Edinburgh 

Can cure my son from wrang ?" 

O leech is come and leech is gane, 

Yet, father, I'm aye waur; 
There's not a leech in Edinbro* 

Can death from me debar. 

But be a friend to my wife, father, 

Restore to her her own, 
Restore to her her morning gift, 

Strathbogie and Aboyne. 



It had been gude for my wife, father, 

To me she'd borne a son, 
Ha would have got my lands and rents, 

Where they lie out and in. 

" It had been gude for my wife, father, 

To me she'd borne an heir ; 
He would have got my lands and rents 

Where they lie fine and fair." 

The steeds they strave into their stables, 
The boys could not get them bound, 

The hounds lay howling on the beach, 
'Cause their master was behind. 

" I dream'd a dream since late yestreen, 

I wish it may be good, 
That our chamber was full of swine, 

An- our bed full of blood. 

" I saw a woman come from the west, 
Full sore wringing her hands, 

And aye she cried, Ohon, alas! 
My good lord's broken bands. 

" As she came by my gude lord's bower 
Saw mony black steeds and brown, — 

I'm feared it be mony unco lords 
Having my love from town. 

" As she came by my gude lord's bower, 
Saw mony black steeds and grey,— 

I'm fear'd it's mony unco lords 
Havin' my love to the clay." 



nt $ 



[Modern Ballad. — Joanna Baillie.] 

Sir Maurice was a wealthy lord, 
He lived in the north countrie, 

"Well would he cope with foe-man's sword, 
Or the glance of a lady's e'e. 

Now all his armed vassals wait, 

A staunch and burly band, 
Before his stately castle gate, 

Bound for the Holy Land. 



JfM 



k3s 



Above the spearmen's lengthen 'd file, 

Are figur'd ensigns flying ; 
Strok'd by their keeper's hand the while, 

Are harness'd chargers neighing. 

And looks of woe, and looks of cheer, 

And looks the two between, 
On many a warlike face appear, 

Where tears have lately been. 

For all they love is left behind ; 

Hope beckons them before : 
Their parting sails spread to the wind, 

Blown from their native shore. 

Then through the crowded portal pass'd 

Six goodly knights and tall ; 
Sir Maurice himself, who came the last, 

Was goodliest of them all. 

And proudly roved his hasty eye 

O'er all the warlike train; — 
" Save ye, brave comrades ! prosp'rously, 

Heaven send us oer the main ! 

" But see I right ? an armed band 
From Moorham's lordless hall ; 

And he who bears the high command, 
Its ancient seneschal ! 

" Return ; your stately keep defend ; 

Defend your lady's bower, 
Lest rude and lawless hands should rend, 

That lone and lovely flower." — 

" Ood will defend our lady dear, 

And we will cross the sea, 
From slav'ry's chain, his lot severe, 

Our noble lord to free." — 

" Nay, nay ! some wand'ring minstrel's 
Hath fram'd a story vain ; [tongue, 

Thy lord, his liegemen brave among, 
Near Acre's wall was slain." — 



" Nay, good my lord ! for had his life 
Been lost on battle-ground, 

When ceas'd that fell and fatal strife, 
His body had been found." — 

' No faith to such delusions give ; 

His mortal term is past." — 
' Not so ! not so ! he is alive, 

And will be found at last I" 



These latter words right eagerly, 
From a slender stripling broke, 

Who stood the ancient warrior by, 
And trembled as he spoke. 

Sir Maurice started at the sound, 

And all from top to toe 
The stripling scann'd. who to the ground 

His blushing face bent low. 

" Is this thy kinsman, seneschal ? 

Thine own or thy sister's son t 
A gentler page, in tent or hall, 

Mine eyes ne'er look'd upon. — 

" To thine own home return, fair youth 

To thine own home return, 
Give ear to likely sober truth, 

Nor prudent counsel spurn. 

" War suits thee not, if boy thou art ; 

And if a sweeter name 
Befit thee, do not lightly part 

With maiden's honour'd fame." 

He turn'd him from his liegemen all, 
Who round their chieftain press'd ; 

His very shadow on the wall 
His troubled mind express'd. 

As sometimes slow and sometimes fast, 

He paced to and fro, 
His plumy crest now upward cast 

In air, now drooping low. 

Sometimes like one in frantic mood, 
Short words of sound he utter'd, 

And sometimes, stopping short, he stood, 
As to himself he mutter'd. 

" A daughter's love, a maiden's pride ! 

And may they not agree ? 
Could man desire a lovelier bride, 

A truer friend than she ? 

" Down, cursed thought ! a boy's garb 

Betrays not wanton will, 
Yet, sharper than an arrow's barb, 

That fear might haunt me still." 

He mutter'd long, then to the gate, 

Return'd and look'd around, 
But the seneschal and his stripling mate, 

Were no where to be found. 







cs 



"With outward cheer and inward smart, 

In warlike fair array, 
Did Maurice with his bands depart, 

And shoreward beet his way. 

Their stately ship rode near the port, 

The warriors to receive, 
And there, with blessings kind but short, 

Did friends of friends take leave. 

And soon they saw the crowded strand 

Wear dimly from their view, 
And soon they saw the distant land, 

A line of hazy blue. 

The white-sail'd ship with fav'ring breeze, 

In all her gallant pride, 
MoVd like the mistress of the seas, 

That rippled far and wide. 

Sometimes with steady course she went, 
O'er wave and surge careerinsr, 

Sometimes with sidelong mast she bent, 
Her wings the sea-foam sheering. 

Sometimes, with poles and rigging bare, 

She scudded before the blast, 
But safely by the Syrian shore, 

Her anchor dropt at last. 

"What martial honours Maurice won, 
Join'd with the brave and great, 

From the fierce, faithless Saracen, 
I may not here relate. 

With boldest band on ridge or moat, 

With champion on the plain, 
I* th' breach with clust'ring foes he i'ought, 

Chok'd up with grizly slain. 

Most valiant by the valiant styl'd, 
Their praise his deeds proclaim 'd, 

And oft his liegemen proudly smil'd 
To hear their leader nam'd. 

But fate will quell the hero's strength, 

And dim the loftiest brow, 
And thus, our noble chief, at length 

Was in the dust laid low. 

He lay the heaps of dead beneath, 

As sunk life's flick'ring flame, 
Ajid thought it was the trance of death, 

That o'er his senses came. 






And when again day's blessed light 

Did on his vision fall, 
There stood by his side — a wond'rous sight ! 

The ancient seneschal. 

He strove, but could not utter word, 

His misty senses fled : 
Again he woke, and Moorham's lord 

Was bending o'er his bed. 

A third time sank he, as if dead, 
And then, his eye-lids raising, 

He saw a chief with turban'd head, 
Intently on him gazing. 

" The prophet's zealous servant I ; 

His battles I've fought and won 
Christians I scorn, their creeds deny, 

But honour Mary's son. 

" And I have wedded an English dame, 

And set her parent free ; 
And none, who wears an English name, 

Shall e'er be thrall'd by me. 

" For her dear sake I can endure 
All wrong, all hatred smother; 

Whate'er 1 feel, thou art secure, 

As though thou wert my brother."— 



" And thou hast wedded an English dame !*• ^ ; *=„ \ 

Sir Maurice said no more, 
For o'er his heart soft weakness came, 

He sigh'd and wept full sore. 

And many a dreary day and night 

With the Moslem chief stay 'd he, 
But ne'er could catch, to bless his sight, 

One glimpse of the fair lady. 

Oft gaz'd he on her lattice high 

As he paced the court below, 
And turn'd his listn'ing ear to try 

If word or accent low 

Might haply reach him there ; and oft 

Traversed the garden green, 
Wotting her footsteps small and soft 

Might on the turf be seen. 

And oft to Moorham's lord he gave 

His list'ning ear who told, 
How he became a wretched slave 

Within that Syrian hold ; 




What time from liegemen parted far, 

Upon the battle field, 
By stern and adverse fate of war 

He was obliged to yield : 

And how his daughter did by stealth 

So boldly cross the sea 
With secret store of gather 'd wealth, 

To set her father free : 

And how into the foemen's hands 

She and her people fell ; 
And how (herself in captive bands) 

She sought him in his cell ; 

And but a captive boy appear'd, 

Till grief her sex betray'd, 
And the fierce Saracen, so fear'd ! 

Spoke gently to the maid . 

How for her plighted hand sued he, 

And solemn promise gave, 
Her noble father should be free 

With ev'ry Christian slave; 

{For many there, in bondage kept, 

Felt the stern rule of vice ;) 
How, long she ponder'd, sorely wept, 

Then paid the fearful price.— 

A tale which made his bosom thrill, 

His faded eyes to weep ; 
He, waking, thought upon it still, 

And saw it in his sleep. 

But harness rings, and the trumpet's bray 

Again to battle calls ; 
And Christian pow'rs, in grand array 

Are near those Moslem walls. 

Sir Maurice heard ; untoward fate ! 

Sad to be thought upon : 
But the castle s lord unlock'd its gate, 

And bade his guest be gone. 

" Fight thou for faith by thee ador'd ; 

By thee so well maintain 'd ! 
But never may this trusty sword 

With blood of thine be stain'd !" — 

Sir Maurice took him by the hand, 

" God bless thee too," — he cried ; 

Then to the nearest Christian band 

With mingled feelings hied. 




The battle join'd, with dauntless pride 

'Gainst foemen, foemen stood; 
And* soon the fatal field was dyed 

With many a brave man's blood. 

At length gave way the Moslem force ; 

Their valiant chief was slain ; 
Maurice protected his lifeless corse, 

And bore it from the plain. 

There's mourning in the Moslem halls, 

A dull and dismal sound : 
The lady left its 'leagur'd walls, 

And safe protection found. 

When months were past, the widow'd damo w: 

Look'd calm and cheerfully ; 
Then Maurice to her presence came, 

And bent him on his knee. 

What words of penitence or suit 

He utter'd, pass we by ; 
The lady wept, awhile was mute, 

Then gave this firm reply : 

" That thou didst doubt my maiden pride 
(A thought that rose and vanish'd 

So fleetingly) i will not chide ; 
'Tis from remembrance banish'd. 

" But thy fair fame, earn'd by that sword, 

Still spotless shall it be : 
I was the bride of a Moslem lord, 

And will never be bride to thee. 

So firm, though gentle, was her look, 

Hope i' the instant fled : 
A solemn, dear farewell he took, 

And from her presence sped. 

And she a plighted nun became, 

God serving day and night ; 
And he of blest Jerusalem 

A brave and zealous knight. 

But that their lot was one of woe, 

Wot ye because of this 
Their sep'rate single state ? if so, 

In sooth ye judge amiss. 



She tends the helpless stranger's bed, 
For alms her wealth is stor'd ; 

On her meek worth God's grace is shed, 
Mans grateful blessings pour'd. 










He still in warlike mail doth stalk, 

In arms his prowess prove ; 
And oft of siege or battle talk, 

And sometimes of his love. 

She was the fairest of the fair, 

The gentlest of the kind ; 
Search ye the world wide every where, 

Her like ye shall not find. 

She was the fairest, is the best, 
Too good for a monarch's bride ; 

I would not give her in her nun's coif dress'd 
For all her sex beside. 



] Wit Ikrf tf w 



mmz 



[This Ballad is from Mr Buchan's Collection. 
It bears the mark of considerable antiquity, 
though here and there betraying the interpola- 
tions or imperfections of modern reciters.] 

Willie was an earl's ae son, 

And an earl's son was he ; 
But he thought his father lack to sair, 

And his mother of low degree. 

But he is on to fair England, 
To sair for meat and fee ; 
qA And all was for dame Oliphant, 
A woman of great beauty. 

He hadna been in fair England 
';■;■ A month but barely ane, 

Ere he dream'd that fair dame Oliphant 
Gied him a gay gowd ring. 

He hadna been in fair England 
V A month but barely four. 

Ere he dream'd that fair dame Oliphant 

Gied him a red rose flower, 
Well set about wi' white lilies, 

Like to the paramour. 

It fell ance upon a day, 

Dame Oliphant thought lang ; 

And she gaed on to gude greenwood, 
As fast as she could gang. 



As Willie stood in his chamber door, 

And as he thought it good ; 
There he beheld dame Oliphant, 

As she came through the wood. 

He's ta'en his bow his arm ower, 

His sword into his hand ; 
And he is on to gude greenwood, 

As fast as he could gang. 

And there he found dame Oliphant 

Was lying sound asleep ; 
And aye the sounder she did sleep, 

The nearer he did creep. 

But when she waken'd frae her sleep, 

An angry maid was she ; 
Crying, " Had awa' frae me, young man, 

Had far awa' frae me, 
For I fear ye are the Scottish knighl 

That beguiles young ladies free." 

" I am not the Scottish knight, 

Nor ever thinks to be ; 
I am but Willie o' Douglas-dale, 

That serves for meat and fee." 

" If ye be Willie o' Douglas dale, 

Ye're dearly welcome to me ; 
For aft in my sleep ha'e I thought on 

You and your merry winking e'e." 

But the cocks they crew, and the horns blew, 

And the lions took the hill ; 
And Willie he gaed hame again, 

To his hard task and tile : 
And likewise did dame Oliphant, 

To her book and her seam. 

Till it fell ance upon a day, 

Dame Oliphant thought lang ; 
And she went on to Willie's bower yetts 

As fast as she could gang. 

" O, are ye asleep now, squire Willie, 

O, are ye asleep ?" said she ; 
"O waken, waken, squire Willie, 

O waken and speak to me. 

" The gowns that were ower wide, Willie, 

They winna meet on me ; 
And the coats that were ower side, Willie, 

They winna come to my knee ; 




And if the knights of my father's court get % 
word, 
I'm sure they'll gar you dee." 

" Dame Oliphant; dame Oliphant, 

A king's daughter are ye ; 
But would ye leave your father and mother, 

And gang awa' wi' me ?" 

" 0, I would leave my father and mother, 
And the nearest that e'er betide ; 

And I would nae be fear'd to gang, 
Gin ye war by my side." 

But she's ta'en a web o' the scarlet, 

And tare it fine and sma' ; 
And even into Willie's arms 

She lept the castle wa' ; 
And Willie was wight and well able, 

And he keepit her frae a fa'. 

But the cocks they crew, and the horus 
blew, 

And the lions took the hill ; 
And Willie's lady followed him, 

And the tears did trinkle still. 

" O want ye ribbons to your hair, 

Or roses to your shoon ? 
Or Vrant ye chains about your neck, 

Ye'se get mair ere that be done." 

" I want not ribbons to my feet, 

Nor roses to my shoon ; 
And there are mair chains about my neck 

Than ever I'll see done : 
But 1 ha'e as much dear bought love 

As rny heart can contain." 

" Will ye gae to the cards or dice ? 

Or to the table play ? 
Or to a bed sae well down spread, 

And sleep till it be day ?" 

" I've mair need o' the roddins, Willie, 

That grow on yonder thorn ; 
Likewise a drink o* Marywell-water, 

Out o' your grass-green horn. 

" I've mair need o' a fire, Willie, 

To haud me frae the cauld ; 
Likewise a glass o' your red wine, 

Ere i bring my son to the fauld." 




He's got a bush o' roddins till her, 

That grow on yonder thorn ; 
Likewise a drink o' Marywell-water, 

Out o' his grass-green horn. 

He carried the match in his pocket, 

That kindled to her the fire ; 
Well set about wi' oaken spails, 

That leam'd ower Lincolnshire. 

And he has bought to his lady, 

The white bread and the wine 
And the milk he milked frae the goats, 

He fed his young son on. 

Till it fell ance upon a day, 

Dame Oliphant thought lang ; 
" gin ye ha'e a being, Willie, 

I pray you ha'e me hame." 

He's ta'en his young son in his arms, 

His lady by the hand ; 
And they are down through guid green- 
wood, 

As fest as they could gang; 

Till they came to a shepherd may, 

Was feeding her flocks alone ; 
Said, " Will ye gang alang wi' me, 

And carry my bonnie young son ? 

" The gowns that were shapen for my j 
back, 

They shall be sewed for thine ; 
And likewise I'll gar squire Willie 

Gi'e you a braw Scots man." 

When they came on to Willie's bower yetts, * 

And far beyond the sea ; 
She was hail'd the lady o' Douglas-dale, 

And Willie an earl to be. 
Likewise the maid they brought awa', 

She got a braw Scots man. 

And lang and happy did they live, 

But now their days are done ; 
And in the kirk o' sweet Saint Bride 

Their graves are growing green. 



(J^\ 



>£jV 



uFCrSJ? 




L » 



SCOTTISH BALLADS 



1 

5?3 



iP^ggS IPoigilafL 

[From Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs.] 



^=r\ My father he left me tua ploughs and a mill, 

It was to begin my dowrie ; 
~zZd And what care I for ony o' them a', 
i^(feu If * be not brave Meldrum's ladie. 



Meldrum, it stands on the head o' yon hill, 

And dear but it stands bonnie ; 
But what care I for this, if I had himsel', 

For to me he's the dearest o' ony. 

But how can I be the lady o' Argye, 
The lady o' Pitlays, or Pitloggan ? 

How can I expect to enjoy these estates, 
And I but a servant woman ? 

In climbing the tree it is too high for me, 
And seeking the fruit that's nae growing ; 

I'm seeking het water beneath cauld ice, 
And against the stream I am rowing. 

But Meldrum he stands on his ain stair head, 
And hearing his bonnie lassie mourning ; 

Says, " Cheer up your heart, my ain proper pink, 
Though ye be but a servant woman. 

" Ye're nae climbing a tree that's too high for 
thee, 

Nor seeking the fruit that's nae growing; 
Nor seeking het water beneath cauld ice, 

It's wi' the stream that ye are rowing." 



" They ca' me Peggy Douglass the butt," she 
says, 

" They ca' me Peggy Douglass the ben, sir; 
And although I were your wedded wife, 

They would ca' me Peggy Douglass again, 



" They ca' you Peggy Douglass the butt," he i 
says, 
" They ca' you Peggy Douglass the ben, may; j 
But the best that's in a' my father's ha', 

Darena ca' you Peggy Douglass again, j 
may." a 



When he had her up to yon stair head, 

She was but a servant woman ; 
But lang, lang ere she came down again, 

She was getting baith mistress and madam. 

" Yestreen I sat by Meldrum's kitchen fire, 
Amang the rest o' his servant lasses ; 

But the night 1 will lye in his arms twa, 
And I'll wear the ribbons and laces." 



[A fragment first published in the Minstrelsy 
of the Scottish Border.] 

There lived a wife at Usher's well, 
And a wealthy wife was she ; 

She had three stout and stalwart sons, 
And sent them o'er the sea. 




They hadna been a week from her, 

A week but barely ane, 
When word came to the carline wife, 

That her three sons were gane. 

They hadna been a week from her, 

A week but barely three, 
When word came to the carline wife, 

That her sons she'd never see. 

" I wish the wind may never cease,* 

Nor fishes in the flood, 
Till my three sons come hame to me, 

In earthly flesh and blood !" 

It fell about the Martinmas, 

When nights are lang and mirk, 

The carline wife's three sons came hame, 
And their hats were o' the birk.f 



* The sense of this verse is obscure, owing, 
probably, to corruption by reciters. It would 
appear that the mother had sinned in the same 
degree with the celebrated Lenore.— Scott. 

f The notion, that the souls of the blessed 
wear garlands, seems to be of Jewish origin. 
At least in the Maase-book, there is a Rabbinical 
tradition to the following effect : — " It fell out, 
that a Jew, whose name was Ponim, an ancient 
man, whose business was altogether about the 





WW 

SCOTTISH BALLADS, 




It neither grew in syke nor ditch, 

Nor yet in ony she ugh ; 
But at the gates o' Paradise, 

That birk grew fair eneugh. 

" Blow up the fire, my maidens ! 

Bring water from the well ! 
For a' my house shall feast this night, 

Since my three sons are well." 



dead, coming to the door of the school, saw one 
standing there, who had a garland upon his 
head. Then was Rabbi Ponim afraid, imagin- 
ing it was a spirit. Whereupon he, whom the 
Rabbi saw, called out to him, saying, ' Be not 
afraid, but pass forward. Dost thou not know 
me?' Then said Rabbi Ponim, ' Art not thou 
he whom I buried yesterday?' And he was an- 
swered, ' Yea, I am he.' Upon which Rabbi 
Ponim said, ' Why comest thou hither ? How 
fareth it with thee in the other world ?' And 
the apparition made answer, ' It goeth well 
with me, and I am in high esteem in paradise.' 
Then said the Rabbi, ' Thou wert but looked 
upon in the world as an insignificant Jew. 
What good work didst thou do, that thou art 
thus esteemed ?* The apparition answered, ' I 
will tell thee : the reason of the esteem I am in, 
is, that I rose every morning early, and with j 
fervency uttered my prayer, and offered the j 
grace from the bottom of my heart; fur which : 
reason I now pronounce grace in paradise, and 
am well respected. If thou doubtest whether I 
am the person, I will show thee a token that j 
will convince thee of it* Yesterday, when thou ! 
didst clothe me in my funeral attire, thou didst j 
tear my sleeve.' Then asked Rabbi Ponim, ' What I 
is the meaning of that garland?' The appari- 
tion answered, ' I wear it, to the end the wind ! 
of the world may not have power over me ; for ' 
it consists of excellent herbs of paradise.' Then 
did Rabbi Ponim mend the sleeve of the de- i 
ceased; fur the deceased had said, that if it was I 
not mended, he should be ashamed to be seen ; 
amongst others, whose apparel was whole. I 
And then the apparition vanished. Wherefore, ! 
let every one utter his prayer with fervency ; 
for then it shall go well with him in the other 
world. And let care be taken that no rent, nor 
tearing, be left in the apparel in which the de- 
ceased are interred." — Jewish Traditions, abridg- 
ed from Buxtorf, London, 1732, Vol. II. p. 19. 
ij ScotL 



And she has made to them a bed, 
She's made it large and wide ; 

And she's ta'en her mantle her about, 
Sat down at the bed-side. 

Up then crew the red red ccck, 

And up and crew the gray ; 
The eldest to the youngest said, 

" 'Tis time we were away." 

The cock he hadna crawd but once, 

And clapp'd his wings at a', 
Whan the youngest to the eldest said, 

" Brother, we must awa'. 

" The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, 
The channerin'* worm doth chide* 

Gin we be mist out o' our place, 
A sair pain we maun bide. 

" Fare ye weel, my mother dear ! 

Fareweei to barn and byre ! 
And fare ye weel, the bonnie lass, 

That kindles my mother's fire." 



lux'U pfrfnt 



[" This beautiful tale of woman's love,' - say? 
Mr Robert Chambers, " beautiful m the pat:.os 
of its simple and touching narrative, and equally 
beautiful in the pathos of its simple and touch- 
ing language— was first published, by Percy, as 
an English ballad, under the title of ' Childe 
Wateis.' Mr Jamieson long afterwards pub- 
lished a Scottish version, under the title of 
' Burd Ellen,' from the recitation of a lady of the 
name of Brown; adding some fragments of ano- 
ther copy, which he had taken down from the 
singing of Mrs Arrot of Aberbrothwiek. Mr 
Kinloch has more lately given, under the title of 
' Lady Margaret,' an imperfect copy, superior in 
some points to that of Mr Jamieson ; and, more 
recently still, Mr Buchan, in his ' Ancient Bal- 
lads and Songs,' has presented a very complete 
one, which he entitles ' Burd Helen.' " The pre- 
sent copy is compiled by Mr ChamLers from the 
different imperfect versions above enumerated.] 



Lord John stood in his stable door, 

Said he was boune to ride : 
Burd Helen stood in her bouir door, 

Said she'd run by his side. 

" The corn is turning ripe, Lord John ; 

The nuts are growing fu' : 
And ye are boune for your ain countrie ; 

Fain wad I go with you." 

" Wi' me, Helen ! wi' me, Helen ! 

What wad ye do wi' me ? 
I've mair need o' a little foot-page, 

Than of the like o' thee." 

"01 will be your little foot-boy, 

To wait upon your steed; 
And I will be your little foot-page, 

Your leish of hounds to lead." 

" But my hounds will eat the breid o' wheat, 

And ye the dust and bran ; 
Then will ye sit and sigh, Helen, 

That e'er ye lo'ed a man." 

" your dogs may eat the gude wheat-breid, 

And I the dust and bran ; 
Yet will I sing and say, weel's me, 

That e'er I lo'ed a man i" 

" O better ye'd stay at hame, Helen, 

And sew your silver seam ; 
For my house is in the far Hielands, 

And ye'll ha'e puir welcome hame." 

" I winna stay, Lord Ji.hn," she said, 

" To sew my silver seam ; 
Though your house is in the far Hielands, 

And I'll ha'e puir welcome hame." 

"Theu if you'll be my foot-page, Helen, 

As you tell unto me, 
Then you must cut your gown of green 

An inch abune your knee. 

*' So you must cut your yellow locks 

An inch abune your e'e ; 
You must tell no man what is my name ; 

My foot-page then you'll be." 

Then he has luppen on his white steed, 

And straight awa' did ride ; 
Burd Helen, dress'd in men's array, 

Sfce ran fast by his side. 



And he was ne'er sae lack* a knicht, 

As ance wad bid her ride ; 
And she was ne'er sae mean a May, 

As ance wad bid him bide. 

Lord John he rade, Burd Helen ran, 

A live-lang summer day ; 
Until they cam* to Clyde-water, 

"Was filled frae bank to brae. 

" Seest thou yon water, Helen," said he, 
" That flows from bank to brim ?" 

11 1 trust to God, Lord John," she said, 
" You ne'er will see me swim !" 

But he was ne'er sae lack a knicht, 

As ance wad bid her ride ; 
Nor did he sae much as reach his hand, 

To help her ower the tide. 

The firsten step that she waide f in, 

She wadit to the knee ; 
" Ochone, alas," quo' that ladye fair, 

" This water's no for me i" 

The second step that she waide in, 

She steppit to the middle : 
Then, sighing, said that fair laclye, 

" I've wet my gowden girdle." 

The thirden step that she waide in, 

She steppit to the neck ; 
When that the bairn that she was wi', 

For cauld began to quake. 

" Lie still, my babe ; lie still, my babe ; 

Lie still as lang's ye may : 
Your father, that rides on horseback high. 

Cares little for us twae." 

And when she cam' to the other side, 

sfhe sat down on a stane ; 
Says, " Them that made me, help me now: 

For I am far frae hame ! 

" Oh, tell me this, now, good Lord John ; 

In pity tell to me; 
How far is it to your lodging, 

Where we this nicht maun be ?" 



* In another version, " courteous." 

f A preterite of wade, peculiar to ScotlaetL 



O 



( rf M\ 



" O dinna ye see yon castle, Helen, 

Stands on yon sunny lea ? 
There ye'se get ane o' my mother's men ; 

Ye'se get nae mair o' me." 

" O weel see I your bonnie castell, 

Stands on yon sunny lea ; 
But I'se ha'e nane o' your mother's men, 

Though I never get mair o' thee." 

Sf But there is in yon castle, Helen, 

That stands on yonder lea; 
There is a lady in yon castle, 

Will sinder you and me." 

" I wish nae ill to that ladye , 

She comes na in my thocht : 
But I wish the maid maist o' your love, 

That dearest has you bocht." 

When he cam* to the porter's yett, 

He tirled at the pin ; 
And wha sae ready as the bauld porter, 

To open and let him in ? 

Mony a lord and lady bright 

Met Lord John in the closs ; 
But the bonniest lady amang them a' 

Was hauding Lord John's horse. 

Four and twenty gay ladyes 

Led him through bouir and ha' ; 

But the fairest lady that was there, 
Led his horse to the sta\ 

Then up bespak' Lord John's sister ; 

These were the words spak' she : 
" You have the prettiest foot-page, brother, 

My eyes did ever see — 



£-^5 ' ' But that his middle is sae thick, 

fC ) His girdle sae wond'rous hie : 

r^^s Let him, I pi-ay thee, good Lord John, 

To chamber go with me." 

/^"V " It is not fit for a little foot-page, 

yJP^sA That has run through moss and mire, 

To go into chamber with any ladye 
That wears so rich attire. 

/CT^ Lt were more meet for a little foot-page, 

That has run through moss and mire, 
To take his supper upon his knee, 
And sit doun by the kitchen fire." 



(SI 



When bells were rung, and mass was suns?, 

And a' men boune to meat, 
Burd Helen was, at the bye-table, 

Amang the pages set. 

" eat and drink my bonnie boy, 

The white breid and the beer." 
" The never a bit can I eat or drink ; 

My heart's sae fu' o' fear." 

" eat and drink, my bonnie boy, 

The white breid and the wine." 
" O the never a bit can I eat or drink ; 

My heart's sae fu' o' pyne." 

But out and spak' Lord John his mother, 

And a skeely* woman was she : 
" Where met ye, my son, wi' that bonnie b y, ^ 

That looks sae sad on thee ? 

" Sometimes his cheek is rosy red, 

And sometimes deidly wan : 
He's liker a woman grit wi' child, 

Than a young lord's serving man." 

" O it maks me laugh, my mother dear, 

Sic words to hear frae thee ; 
He is a squire's ae dearest son ; 

That for love has followed me. 

" Eise up, rise up, my bonnie boy ; 

Gi'e my horse corn and hay." 
" that I will, my master deir, 

As quickly as I may." 

She took the hay aneath her arm, 

The corn intill her hand ; 
But atween the stable-door and the sta' 

Burd Helen made a stand. 

" room ye round, my bonnie broun steids ; 

room ye near the wa' ; 
For the pain that strikes through my twa 

1 fear, will gar me fa'." [si es, W 

She lean'd her back again' the wa' ; 

Strong travail came her on ; 
And, e'en among the great horse' feet, Jjf~~. 

She has brought forth her son. 



* Skilful — or rather expressing that property 
in old women which makes them far-seen in 
matters connected with the physics of human 



nature. — Buchan. 




When bells were rung, and mass was sung, 

And a' men houne for bed, 
Lord John's mother and sister gay 

In ae bouir they were laid. 

Lord John hadna weel got aff his claes, 

Nor was he weel laid doun, 
Till his mother heard a bairn greet, 

And a woman's heavy moan. 

" Win up, win up, Lord John," she said ; 

" Seek neither stockings nor shoen: 
For I ha'e heard a bairn loud greet, 

And a woman's heavy moan !" 

Richt hastilie he rase him up, 

Socht neither hose nor shoen ; 
And he's doen him to the stable door, 

By the lee licht o' the mune. 

" O open the door, Burd Helen," he said, 

" O open and let me in ; 
I want to see if my steed be fed, 

Or my greyhounds fit to rin." 

" O lullaby, my own deir child ! 

Lullaby, deir child, deir ! 
I wold thy father were a king, 

Thy mother laid on a beir !" 

" O open the door, Burd Helen," he says, 

" O open the door to me ; 
Or, as my sword hangs by my gair, 

I'll gar it gang in three !" 

" That never was my mother's custome, 
And I hope it's ne'er be mine ; 

A knicht into her companie, 
When she dries a' her pyne." 

He hit the door then wi' his foot, 

Sae did he wi' his knee ; 
Till door o' deal, and locks o' steel, 

In splinders he part flee. 

" An askin', an askin', Lord John," she says, 

" An askin' ye'll grant me ; 
The meanest maid about your house, 

To bring a drink to me. 

" An askin', an askin', my dear Lord John, 

An askin' ye'll grant me ; 
The warsten bouir in a' your touirs, 

For thy young son and me!" 



M I grant, I grant your askins, Helen, 

An* that and mair frae me; 
The vei\y best bouir in a* my touirs, 

For my young son and thee. 

" have thou comfort, fair Helen 

Be of good cheer, I pray ; 
And your bridal and your kirking baith 

Shall stand upon ae day." 

And he has ta'en her Burd Helen, 

And rowed her in the silk ; 
And he has ta'en his ain young son, 

And wash'd him in the milk. 

And there was ne'er a gayer bridegroom, 

Nor yet a blyther bride, 
As they, Lord John, and Lady Helen, 

Neist day to kirk did ride. 



ra 



1 



aaioirt ®Kmfo##i(0)Fu 



[Thts is originally an English ballad, but the 
following Scottish version is givenin Mr Kinloch's 
Ancient Scottish Ballads. — " Henry II. of Eng- 
land," says Mr Kinloch, "while Duke of Nor- 
mandy, married, at the age of nineteen, ' the 
fam'd Eleanor Duchess of Guienne and Aqui- 
tain, who had lately been divorced from Lewis 
king of France, for consanguinity and suspicion 
of adultery, after she had born him two daugh- 
ters.' — Echard, b. ii. c 1. The great disparity 
in age, and the moral taint which attached to 
her, would lead us to suspect that Henry was 
directed in his choice, more by the allurement of 
several rich province^ in France, than by affec- 
tion for the lady. This may account for his no- 
torious infidelity to her bed, particularly with 
' Fair Rosamond,' whom, it is said, Eleanor, in 
a fit of jealousy, caused to be poisoned. Whilst 
our historians charge Eleanor with instigating 
her sons to rebel against their father, to which 
she was incited by jealousy and ill usage, they 
do not breathe the slightest suspicion against 
her conjugal honour while queen of England. 
It would, therefore, appear that the ballad 
has no foundation in truth, other than it may 
allude to her conduct whilst the wife of Louis 
^VI1."| 







SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



The queen fell sick, and very, very sick, 
She was sick and like to dee ; 

And she sent for a friar oure frae France, 
Her confessour to be. 

lUHA King Henry when he heard o' that, 

An angry man was he ; 
And he sent to the earl Marshall, 
Attendance for to gi'e. 

" The queen is sick," king Henry cried, 
" And wants to be beshriven ; 

She has sent for a friar oure frae France, 
By the rude* he were better in heaven. 

" But tak' you now a friar's guise, 
The voice and gesture feign, 

And when she has the pardon erav'd, 
Respond to her, Amen ! 

"And I will be a prelate old, 

And sit in a corner dark, 
To hear the adventures of my spouse, 

My spouse, and her haly spark." 

" My liege ! my liege ! how can I betray 
My mistress and my queen } 

O swear by the rude that no damage 
For this shall be gotten or be gi'en." 

" I swear by the rude," quoth king Henry, 
" No damage shall be gotten or gi'en ; 

fCome, let us spare no cure nor care, 
For the conscience of the queen." 
" fathers ! fathers ! I'm very, very sick, 
I'm sick and like to dee ; 
Some ghostly comfort to my poor soul, 
O tell if ye can gi'e!" 

Uj^L ' " Confess ! confess !" earl Marshall cried, 

" And you shall pardon'd be;" 
*' Confess ! confess !" the king replied, 
" And we shall comfort gi'e." 

g*a 

" O how shall I tell the sorry, sorry tale ? 

How can the tale be told ! 
I play'd the harlot wi' the earl Marshall, 

Beneath yon cloth of gold. 



" Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? 

But I hope it will pardon'd be." 
" Amen ! Amen I" quoth the earl Marshall, 

And a very fear't heart had he. 

" down i' the forest, in a bower, 

Beyond yon dark oak-tree, 
I drew a penknife frae my pocket, 

To kill king Henerie. 

" Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? 

But 1 hope it will pardon'd be." 
" Amen ! Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, 

And a very fear't heart had he. 

" do you see yon pretty little boy, 

That's playing at the ba' ? 
He is the earl Marshall's only son, 

And I loved him best of a'. 

" Ob, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ?■ 

But I hope it will pardon'd be." 
" Amen ! Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, 

And a very fear't heart had he. 

" And do you see yon pretty little girl 

That's a' beclad in green ? 
She's a friar's daughter oure in France, 

And I hop'd to see her a queen. 

" Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? 

But I hope it will pardon'd be." 
" Amen ! Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, 

And a fear't heart still had he. 

" do you see yon other little boy, 

That's playing at the ba' ? 
He is king Henry's only son, 

And 1 like him warst of a'. 

" He's headed like a buck," she said, 

" And backed like a bear:" — 
"Amen!" quoth the king, in the king's ain - 
voice, 

" He shall be my only heir !" 

The king look'd over his left shoulder, 

An angry man was he : — 
*' An it werna for the oath I sware, 

Earl Marshall, thou should'st dee." 



%m^ Eofod. 



TFrom Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads. — 
Taken down from the recitation of a lady of 
Roxburghshire. Lovele is the name of one of 
the heroes of Otterburn : 



" Sir Jorg the worthy Lovele 
A knyght of great renowen, 

Sir Raff the lyche Rugbe 
With dyntes wear beaten dow 



,»] 



Lord Lovel stands at his stable door, 

Mounted upon a grey steed ; 
And bye came Ladie JNanciebel, 

And wish'd Lord Lovel much speed. 

" whare are ye going, Lord Lovel, 

My dearest tell to me P" 
"01 am going a far journey, 

Some strange countrie to see ; 

" But I'll return in seven long years, 

Lady Nanciebel to see." 
" O ! seven, seven, seven long years, 

They are much too long for me." 

He was gane a year away, 

A year but barely ane, 
When a strange fancy cam' into his head, 

That fair Naeciebel was gane. 

It's then he rade, and better rade, 

Until he cam' to the toun, 
And there he heard a dismal noise, 

For the church bells a' did soun'. 

He asked what the bells rang for, 
They said, " It's for Nanciebel : 

She died for a discourteous squire, 
And his name is Lord Lovel." 

The lid o' the coffin he opened up, 

The linens he faukled doun ; 
And aye he kiss'd her pale, pale lips. 

And the tears cam' trinkling doun. 

" Weill may I kiss those pale, pale lips, 
For they will never kiss t : ,e; — 

I'll n.ak' a vow, and keep it true, 
That they'll ne'er kiss ane but thee." 



Lady "Nancie died on Tuesday's nicht, 
Lord Lovel upon the neist day ; 

Lady Nancie died for pure, pure love, 
Lord Lovel, for deep sorray. 



{From a small volume, entitled, " The Kil- ' 
marnock Annual for 1835."] 

Lord Lovat left the wars, 
Beneath the halie cross, 
To seek the weel-kent braes and scaurs, 
And the bonnie woods o' Ross. 

He gaed when time was sleeping 
In springlight on his brow; 
But dim and douie age was creeping 
Oot-owre its brentness noo. 

Oh ! many an eerie sight 
Has prood Lord Lovat seen ; — 
The wild war flashing day and night, 
Unsparing men between : — 

The desert and the sun, 
Richt owre the blistering head ; 
The fearsome loch that gathered on 
The wrack o' cities dead. 

Lord Loyat's step was first 
When Ascalon was won ; 
Lord Lovat's lance, the foremost burst 
Jerusalem's wa's upon. 

What has he got ? — Thae wars 
Are no for pelf I trow; 
Eut his boardlie breast is seamed with scars.. 
And gashed his sunburnt brow. 

What has he got ? — The praise 
O' warl ringing fame, 
In minstrelsy a lordly place, 

And knighthood's proudest name ! 

But he wad gi'e them a' — 
Them a' ; and muckle mair, 
F&r ae hour in his father's ha', 
Wi' the Leddy Maisrey there i 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Ae hour of auld langsyne, 
And langsyne's bonnie dreams; 
Ae dauuder where the roses shine, 
Oot-owre the laughing streams. 

On — on Lord Lovat rode, 
Through wild and rocky glen, 
Through the quiet blackness of the wood; — 
On — on with spur and vein. 

The sun was haflins down— 
The drumly winter sun, 
And the auld firs waved like shadows, round, 
And the lift grew mirk abune. 

His brave and bonnie black 
Was worn and wearied sair; 
They had travelled on since mornin' brak, 
For three score miles and mair. 

" Anither step or twa, — ■ 
Haud on my bonnie black ! — 
Ae ither stretch, and hearth and ha' 
Welcomes the lang lost back I" 

At every step they rade 
Lord Lovat kent a Men', 
In the wee burn brattlin', as it gaed 
The waving saughs between : — 

The rowan tree that broke 
The refted craig oot-through ; — 
The grey cairn and the mossy rock, 
Wi' the wild whins on its brow, 

On — on, the sun was down, 
And the skie was dim in cloud, 
When the keep he looked for gloomed abune 
The shadows of the wood. — 

Waes me ! The weeds waved out 
Upon the broken wa' ; 
The grass was growin' in the moat, 
Nae licht was in the ha'; 

Nae sound was in the yard, 
Whare spur and bridle rang ; 
And the warder's challenge word was neard 
The midnight glens amang. 

And the cauld twilight streamed 
O'er a' in eerie gleams • — 
Was this the palace hame that seemed 
Sae bonnie in his dreams . J 



Lord Lovat'shlood, I trow, 
Was freezing round his heart, 
And the cauld sweat brake in ice draps thro', 
Upon his forehead swart. — 

He reached the castle ha', 
In ruin, like the rest; 
He only raised the hoodie craw, 
And the sparrow from its nest ! 

There was an auld grey man, 
Stood in the yard below, 
And four score years had crossed the span 
Of wrinkles on his brow : — 

" Come here thou auncient carle ! 
And tell me where they be — 
The line of Ross — the proud auld earle, 
But and his dochters three ? — 

" And bonnier tban them a', 
May Maisrey whare is she ■>" 
— The auld man turned his head awa', 
To hide his heavy e'e. 

" A' dead !" the auld man said— 
" A' dead ! and ane by ane, 
The bonniest flowers in Scotland braid, 
In then- bonniest time were ta'en i 

" There was first the leddy Jean, 
Wi' her licht laugh to the last , 
And then, and sune, the burd Ailleen, 
In the deadly wasting past ! — 

" In sax short years the wail 

For the last and best was said ; 

And oh ! no lang was Ross himsel' 

To follow where they gaed : — 

" And, in the east, afar, 
Lord Lovat but to be" — 
— " Hush, vassal ! hush, and tell me whare 
May Maisrey — whare is she 1" 

" Oh she de'ed— the bonnie bride, 
When the wild news of the war" — 
" Awa' — awa' " — Lord Lovat cried, 
" I douna harken mair !" — 

He prest his gauntlet haun' 
Hard on his burnin' brow ;— 
; ' Screech-owl of death] — awa' auld man 
And leave me — leave me now."— 



grey haired vassel bent 
Upon his knee, at ance : 
Vs^S Eut fierce and fast Lord Lovat went, 
With a broken spirit thence.— 

" It could be nane but he, 
I kenned his stately mak" ; 
I kenned him by his father's e'e — 
The princely and the black!" 

—The vassal said—" This nicht, 
O'er a' the lands of Ross, 
i Shall bale and beacon fling their licht 
And speed the fierie cross." 

That nicht a cry was heard 
In hut and barons ha' — 
v^3\ It was an ancient gathering word, 
Ainaist forgot by a' : 

night the winter stars 

Looked doun on mustering crests ; 

On the banner's charge of golden bars, 

And the mail on gallant breasts. — 

The day broke, clear and cold, 
On a sea of shimmering spears, — 
On blazoned arms, and bearings eld, 
Of Scotland's daring peers. — 

But nae Lord Lovat cam', 
Though twice the gathering cry 
From thousands rose the hills araang, 
In thunder to the sky. — 

" "What keeps Lord Lovat now . J " 
Said auld Balfour, at last ; 
And to the gate with clouded brow, 
The stalwart baron past :— 

On through the halls — nae breath — 
2>Tae sound was in the air — 
On to the chapel — fixed in death, 
Was the crusader there. — 






[From Mr Jamieson's Collection, where t : s 
said to be given from the recitation of Mrs 
Brown.] 

" How brent's your brow, my lady Elspat ? 

How gouden yellow is your hair ? 
0' a' the maids o' fair Scotland, 

There's nane like lady Elspat fair." 

" Perform your vows, sweet William, - ' she says, 
w The vows which ye ha' made to me ; 

And at the back o' my mither's castell, 
This night l-'ll surely meet wi' thee." 

Bat wae be to her brother's page, 

That heard the words thir twa did say ; 

He's tald them to her lady mither, 

Wha wrought sweet William mickle wae. 



For she has ta'en him, sweet William, 

And she's gar'd bind him wi' his bow string, 

Till the red bluid o' hi3 fair body 

Frae ilka nail o' his hand did spring. 

O, it fell ance upon a time, 

That the Lord -justice came to town ; 
Out has she ta'en him, sweet William, 

Brought him before the Lord -justice boun'. 

" And what is the crime now, lady," he says, 
" That has by this young man been dane *" 

" O he has broken my bonnie castell, 

That was weel biggit wi' lime and stane ; 

" And he has broken my bonnie coffers, 
That was weel bandit wi' aiken ban ; 

And he has stown my rich jewels; 
I wot he has stown them every ane." 















c 



Stretched on the altar steps, below 
The cross, as if to pray, 
And white, upon his sunburnt brow, 
The drifted cranreuch lay ! 



'S 



Then out it spak' her Lady Elspat, 
As she sat by Lord-j ustice' knee ; 

" ZS"ow ye ha'e told your tale, mither, 
I pray, Lord-justice, ye'll now hear me. 

" He hasna broken her bonnie castell, 
That was weel biggit wi' lime and stane ; 

Nor has he stown her rich jewels, 
For I wat she has them every aue. 



£3N 



' But though he was my first true love, 

And though I had sworn to be his bride, 
'Cause he hadna a great estate, 

She would this way our loves divide." 

Syne out and spak' the Lord -justice, 
I wat the tear was in his e'e ; 
Y^Lp*i " 1 see nae faut in this young man ; 

Sae loose his bands, and set him free ; 

" And tak' your love, now, Lady Elspat ; 

And my best blessin' you baith upon ; 
For gin he be your first true love, 

He is my eldest sister's son. 

f" There stands a steed in my stable, 
Cost me baith gold and white mony; 
Ye's get as mickle o' my free land 
As he'll ride about in a summer's day." 






Q^ 



Vbt Ha 



u$ 



[From Mr Buchan's Collection.] 

It was intill a pleasant time, 

Upon a simmer's day, 
The noble earl of M ar's daughtet 

Went forth to sport and play. 

As thus she did amuse hersel', 

Below a green aik tree, 
There she saw a sprightly doo 

Set on a tower sae hie. 

" O cow -me -doo, my love sae true, 

If ye'U come down to me, 
Ye'se ha'e a cage o' guid red gowd 

Instead o' simple tree : 

" I'll put gowd hingers roun' your cage, 

And siller roun' your wa' j 
I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird 

As ony o' them a'." 

But she hadnae these words well spoke, 
Nor yet these words well said, 

Till cow-me-doo flew frae the tower, 
And lighted on her head. 



Then she has brought this pretty bird 

Harae to her bowers and ha' ; 
And made him sbine as fair a bird 

As ony o' them a'. 

"When day was gane and night was come, 

About the evening tide; 
This lady spied a sprightly youth 

Stand straight up by her side. 

" From whence came ye, young man ?" she 
" That does surprise me sair ; [said, 

My door was bolted right secure ; 
What way ha'e ye come here ?" 

" had your tongue, ye lady fair, 

Lat a' your folly be ; 
Mind ye not on your turtle doo 

Last day ye brought wi' thee ?" 

<( tell me mair, young man," she said, 

" This does surprise me now ; 
What country ha'e ye come frae ? 

What pedigree are you ?" 

" My mither lives on foreign isles, 

She has nae mair but me; 
She is a queen o' wealth and state, 

And birth and high degree. 

" Likewise well skill'd in magic spells, 

As ye may plainly see ; 
And she transform'd me to yon shape, 

To charm such maids as thee. 

" I am a doo the live lang day, 

A sprightly youth at night ; 
This aye gars me appear mair fair 

In a fair maiden's sight. 

" And it was but this verra day 

That I came ower the sea ; 
Your lovely face did me enchant, — 

I'll live and dee wi' thee." 

" O cow-me-doo, my luve sae true, 

Nae mair frae me ye'se gae," 
" That's never my intent, my luve, 

As ye said, it shall be sae." 

Then he has staid in bower wi' her 

For sax lang years and ane, 
Till sax young sons to him she bare, 

And the seventh she's brought name. 



s 



But aye as ever a child was born, 

He carried them away ; 
And brought them to his mither's care, 

As fast as they could fly. 

Thus he has staid in bower wi' her 
For twenty years and three; 

There came a lord o' high renown 
To court this fair ladie. 

But still his profer she refused, 

And a' his presents too ; 
Says, " I'm content to live alane 

Wi' my bird, coo-me-doo." 

Her father sware a solemn oath 

Ainang the nobles all, 
" The morn, or ere I eat or drink, 

This bird I will gar kill." 

The bird was sitting in his cage, 
And heard what they did say ; 

And when he found they were dibmist, 
Says, " Waes me for this day. 

" Before that I do langer stay, 

And thus to be forlorn, 
I'll gang unto my mither's bower, 

Where 1 was bred and born." 

Then cow-me-doo took flight and flew 

Heyoiid the raging sea; 
And lighted near his mither's castle 

On a tower o' gowd sae hie. 

As his mither was wauking out, 

To see what she could see ; 
And there she saw her little son 

Set on the tower sae hie. 

'* Get da,ncers here to dance," she said, 
" And minstrells for to play ; 

For here's my young son, Florentine, 
Come here wi' me to stay." 

" Get nae dancers to dance, mither, 

Nor minstrells for to play; 
For the mither o' my seven sons, 

The morn's her wedding-day." 

" O tell me, tell me, Florentine, 

Tell me, and tell me true ; 
Tell me this day without a flaw, 

What I will do for you," 



" Instead of dancers to dance, mither, 

Or minstrells for to play ; 
Turn four-and-twenty wall-wight men. 

Like storks, in feathers gray; 

" My seven sons in seven swans,, 

Aboon their heads to flee ; 
And I, mysel', a gay gos-hawk, 

A bird o' high degree." 

Then sichin, said the queen hersel', 

" That thing's too high for me ;" 
But she applied to an auld woman, 

Who had mair skill than she. 

Instead o' dancers to dance a dance, 

Or minstrells for to play ; 
Four-and-twenty wall-wight men 

Turn'd birds o' feathers gray ; 

Her seven sons in seven swans, 

Aboon their heads to flee ; 
And he, himsel', a gay gos-hawk, 

A bird o' high degree. 

This flock o' birds took flight and flew 

Beyond the raging sea ; 
And landed near the earl Mar's castle, 

Took shelter in every tree. 

They were a flock o' pretty birds 

Bight comely to be seen ; 
The people view'd them wi' surprise 

As they danced on the green. 

These birds ascended frae the tree, 

And lighted on the ha' ; 
And at the last wi' force did flee 

Amaug the nobles a'. 

The storks there seized some o' the men, / 

They could neither fight nor flee ; 
The swans they bound the bride's btst man, 

Below a green aik tree. 

They lighted next on maidens fair, 

Then on the bride's own head; 
And wi' the twinkling o' an e'e, 

The bride and them were fled. 

There's ancient men at weddings been, jv> _J 

For sixty years or more ; 
But sic a curious wedding-day 

They never saw before. 




For naething could the companie do, 

Nor naething could they say ; 
But they saw a flock o' pretty birds 

That took their bride away. 

When that the earl Mar, he came to know, 

Where his dochter did stay ; 
He sign'd a bond o' unity, 

And visits now they pay. 



[Given in Mr Jamieson's Collection, from 
ithe recitation of Mrs Brown.] 

" O wha will bake my bridal bread, 

And brew my bridal ale ? 
And wha will welcome my bright bride, 

That I bring o'er the dale ?" 

"01 will bake your bridal bread, 

And brew your bridal ale ; 
And I will welcome your bright bride, 

That you bring o'er the dale." 

" O she that welcomes my bright bride, 

Maun gang like maiden fair; 
She maun lace her in her green clothing, 

And braid her yellow hair.' 

" O how can I gang maiden-like, 

When maiden I am nane ; 
When I ha'e born you seven sons, 

And am wV bairn again?" 

The lady stood in her bower door, 

And looked o'er the land, 
And there she saw her ain good lord 

Leading his bride by the hand. 

She's drest her sons i' the scarlet red, 

Hersel' i' the dainty green ; 
And though her cheek look'd pale and wan, 

She well might ha'e been a queen. 

She call'd upon her eldest son, 

" Look yonder what you see ; 
For youder comes your father dear, 

Your step-mother him wi'. — 





" you're welcome hame, my ain good lord, 
To your halls but and your bowers ; 

You are welcome hame, my ain good lord, 
To your castles and your towers ; 

Sae is your bright bride you beside ; — 
She's fairer than the flowers." 

" O whatten a lady's that," she says, 

" That welcomes you and me ? 
If I'm lang lady about this place, 

Some good I will her dee ; 
She is sae like my sister Jane, 

Was stown i' the bower frae me." 

she has served the lang tables 

"Wi' the white-bread and the wine ; 

But ay she drank the wan water, 
To keep her colour fine.* 

And she gaed by the first table, 

And leugh amang them a' ; 
But ere she reach'd the second table, 

She loot the tears down fa'. 

She's ta'en a napkin lang and white, 

And hung't upon a pin : — 
It was to dry her watery eyes 

As she gaed out and in. 

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, 

And a' man boun' to bed, 
The bride but and the bonnie bridegroom 

In ae chamber were laid. 

She's ta'en her harp intill her hand, 

To harp this twa asleep ; 
And ay as she harped and she sang, 

Full sorely did she weep. 

" O seven full fair sons I have born, 

To the good lord o' this place ; 
And I wish that they were seven hares, 

To run the castle race, 
And I mysel' a good grey hound, 

And I wad gi'e them chase. 

" O seven full fair sons 1 have born, 
To the good lord o' this ha', 



Off 



•mt 



W 



^ 



A " To keep her colour fine — To preserve her 
complexion ; to keep her from betraying the 
secret emotions of her heart by changing coun 
tenance.— Jamieson. 



%£?!fr^ 




s 



And I wish that they were seven rattons, 

To run the castle wa', 
And I mysel' a good grey cat, 

And I wad worry them a'. 

" The earl o* Richmond was my father, 
And the lady was my mither ; 

And a' tbe bairns beside mysel' 
Was a sister and a brither." 

" Sing on, sing on, ye sad lady ; 

I wat ye ha'e sung in time ; 
Gin the earl o' Eiehmond was your father 

I wat sae was he mine." 

" Rise up, rise up, my bierly bride, 

I think my bed's but cald ; 
I wadna hear my lady lament 

For your tocher ten times tald." 

" seven ships did bring you here, 

And ane sail tak' ^ou hame; 
The lave I'll keep to your sister Jane, 

For tocher she gat nane." 



[This old and once popular ballad we give, 
with some slight alterations, from Mr Buchan's 
Collection. The character of "sister Ann," as 
here depicted, and her indifference about her 
slain brothers, would scarcely meet the approval 
of modern times.] 

There are sixteen lang miles I'm sure, 

Between my love and me ; 
There are eight o' them in gude dry land, 

And other eight by sea. 

Betide me life, betide me death, 

My love I'll gang and see ; 
Although her friends they do me hate, 

Her love is great for me. 

Of my coat I'll make a boat, 

And o' my sark a sail ; 
And o' my cane a gude tapmast, 

Dry land till I come till. 



Then o' his coat he's made a boat, 

And o* his sark a sail ; 
And o* his cane a gude tapmast, 

Dry land till he came till. 

He is on to Annie's bower door, 

And tirled at the pin; — 
" sleep ye, wake ye, my love Annie, t^ 

Ye'll rise lat me come in." 



-' who is this at my bower door, 
Sae well that kens my name ?" 

" It is your true love, sweet "Willie, 
For you I've cross'd the faem," 

" I am deeply sworn, Willie, 
By father and by mother ; 

At kirk or market where we meet, 
"We darena own each other. 



" And I am deeply sworn, Willie, 
By my bauld brothers three ; 

At kirk or market where we meet, 
I darena speak to thee." 

" Ye take your red fan in your hand, 
Your white fan ower your een ; 

And ye may swear, and save your oath, 
Ye saw nae me come in." 

She's ta'en her red fan in her hand, 
The white fan ower her een ; 

It was to swear and save her oath, 
She saw nae him come in. 

They hadna kiss'd nor love clapped, 
As lovers do when they meet ; 

Till up it waukens her mother, 
Out o* her drowsy sleep. 

" Win up, win up, my three bauld sons, 
Win up and make ye boun' ; 

Your sister's lover's in her bower, 
And he's but new come in." 

Then up it raise her three bauld sons, 
And girt to them their brand , 

And they are to their sister's bower 
As fast as they could gang. 



-y^ta 



^ 




When they came to then sister's bower, 
They sought it up and down ; 

But there was neither man nor boy, 
In her bower to be foun'. 



Then out it speaks the first o' them, 

" We'll gang and lat her be ; 
For there is neither man nor boy 

Intill her com^anie." 

Then out it speaks the second son, 

" Our travel's a' in vain ; 
But mother dear, nor father dear, 

Shall break our rest again." 

Then out it speaks the third o' them, 

(An ill death mat he die J) 
" We'll lurk amang the bent sae brown, 

That Willie we may see." 

He stood behind his love's curtains, 
His goud rings show'd him light 

And by this ye may a' weel guess, 
He was a renowned knight. 

He's done him to his love's stable, 
Took out his berry-brown steed ; 

His love stood in her bower door, 
Her heart was like to bleed. 

" O mourn ye for my coming, love ? 

Or for my short staying ? 
Or mourn ye for our safe sind'ring, 

Case we never meet again ?" 

" I mourn nae for your here coming, 

Nor for your staying lang ; 
Nor mourn I for our safe sind'ring, — 

I hope we'll meet again. 

" I wish ye may won safe away, 

And safely frae the town ; 
For ken you not my brothers three 

Are 'mang the bent sae brown." 

" If I were on my berry-brown steed, 
And three miles frae the town, 

I wouldna fear your three bauld brothers., 
Amang the bent sae brown." 

He leint him ower his saddle bow, 
And kiss'd her lips sae sweet; 

The tears that fell between these twa, 
They wat his great steed's feet. 

But he wasna on his berry -brown steed, 
Nor twa miles frae the town, 

Till up it starts these three fierce men, 
Amang the; bent sae biown. 



Then up they came like three fierce men, 

Wi' mony shout and cry ; 
" Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth, 

What makes jou haste away ? 

" For I must know before you go, 

Tell me, and make nae lie ; — 
If ye've been in my sister's bower, 

My hands shall gar ye die." 

" Though I've been in your sister's bower, 

1 have nae fear o' thee ; 
I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight, 

And shall gain victorie." 

" Now I entreat you for to stay, 

Unto us gi'e a wad ; 
If ye our words do not obey, 

I'se gar your body bleed." 

" I have nae wad," says sweet Willie, 

" Unless it be my brand ; 
And that shall guard my fair body, 

Till I win frae your hand." 

Then twa o' them stept in behind, 

All in a furious meed ; 
The third o' them came him before, 

And seiz'd his berry-brown steed. 

O then he drew his trusty brand, 

That hang down by his gare; 
And he has slain these three fierce men, 

And left them sprawling there. 

Then word has gane to her mother, 

In bed where she slept soun', 
That Willie had kill'd her three bauld sons, 

Amang the bent sae brown. 

Then she has cut the locks that hung 

Sae low down by her e'e ; 
Sae has she kiltit her green claithing 

A little aboon her knee. 

And she has on to the king's court, 

As fast as gang could she ; 
When fair Annie got word o' that, 

Was there as soon as she. 

Her mother went before the king, 

Fell low down on her knee : 
" Win up, win up, my dame," he said, 

" What is your will wi' me?" , 



'%■ 



(S 



&2 



SCOTTISH BALLADS, 



''■ My wills they are not sma', my liege. 

The truth I'll tell to thee^ 
There is ane o' your courtly knights 

Last, night ha'e robbed me." 

" And has he broke your bigly bowers, 

Or has he stole your fee ? 
There is nae knight into my court 

Last night has been frae me; 

" Unless 'twas Willie o' Lauderdale, 

Forbid that it be he !" 
" And by my sooth," says the auld woman, 

" That very man is he. 

" For he has broke my bigly bowers, 

And he has stole my fee ; 
And made my daughter, Ann, his love, 

And an ill woman is she. 

" That was not all he did to me, 

Ere he went frae the town ; 
My sons sae true he fiercely slew, 

Amang the bent sae brown." 

Then out it spake her daughter Ann, 

She stood by the king's knee ; 
" Ye lie, ye lie, my mother dear, 

Sae loud's I hear you he. 

" He has not broke your bigly bowers, 

Nor ha3 he stole jour fee ; 
Nor made your daughter, Ann, his love, 

A good woman I'll be. 

" Although he slew your three bauld sons, 

He weel might be forgi'en ; 
They were well clad in armour bright, 

Whan my love was him lane." 

" Well spoke, well spoke," the king replied, 

" This tauking pleases me ; 
For ae kiss o' your lovely mouth, 

I'll set your true love free." 

She's ta'en the king in her arms, 
And kiss'd him cheek and chin; 

He then set her behind her love, 
And they went singing hame. 




[This is a translation by Mr Jamieson from 
the Danish,] 

There dwalls a lady in Danmarck, 

Lady Hillers lyle men her ea' ; 
And she's gar'd bigg a new castell, 

That shines o'er Danmarck a'. 

Her dochter was stown aw-a' frae her ; 

She sought for her wide-whare ; 
But the mair she sought, and the less she fanu,— 

That wirks her sorrow and care. 



And she's gar'd bigg a new ship, 

Wi' vanes o' flaming goud, 
Wi' mony a knight and mariner, 

Sae stark in need bestow'd. 

She's followed her sons down to the strand, 

That chaste and noble fre ; 
And wull and waif for eight lang years 

They sail'd upon the sea. 

And eight years wull and waif they sail'd, 
O' months that seea.'d sae lang; 

Syne they sail'd afore a high castell, 
And to the land can gang. 

And the young lady Svane lyle, 
In the bower that was the best, 

Says, " Wharfrae cam thir frem swains 
Wi' us this night to guest ?"* 

Then up and spak' her youngest brither, 

Sae wisely aye spak' he ; 
" "We are a widow's three poor sons, 

Lang wilder**! on the sea. 






* Swains — In this, and the other translations 
from the Danish, the term swain is used in its 
original and proper sense, to signify a young man. 
The term lyle (little), so often annexed, to ex- 
press endearment, to the names of ladies in the 
Danish ballads, is still in use in Cumberland and 
the northern counties of England. — Jamieson 



m 



" In Danmarck were we born and bred, 
Lady Hillers lyle was our mither ; 

Our sister frae us was stown awa', 
We findna whare or whither." 

" In Danmarck were ye born and bred ? 

Was lady Hillers your mither ? 
I can nae langer heal frae thee, 

Thou art my youngest brither. 

" And hear ye this, my youngest brither, 

Why bade na ye at hame ? 
Had ye a hunder and thousand lives, 

Ye canna brook ane o' them." 

She's set him in the weiest nook 

She in the house can meet ; 
She's bidden him for the high God's sake 

JSJouther to laugh ne greet. 

Rosmer hame frae Zealand came, 

And he took on to bann ; 
" 1 smell fu' weel, by my right hand, 

That here is a Christian man." 

" There flew a bird out o'er the house, 
Wi' a man's bane in his mouth ; 

He coost it in, and I cast it out, 
As fast as e'er I couth.'' 

But wilyly she can Rosmer win ; 

And clapping him tenderly, 
" It's here is come my sister-son ; — 

Gin I lose him, I'll die. 

" It's here is come my sister-son, 
frae baith our fathers' land ; 

And I ha'e pledged him faith and troth, 
That ye will not him bann." 

" And is he come thy sister-son, 
Frae thy father's land to thee ? 

Then I will swear my highest aith, 
He's dree nae skaith frae me." 

'Twas then the high king Rosmer, 

He cad on younkers tw ae : 
" Ye bid proud Svane lyle's sister-son 

To the chalmer afore me gae." 

It was Svane lyle's sister-son, 
V, han afore Rosmer he wan, 

His heart it quook, and his body shook, 
:sae fley'd, he scarce dow stand. 



Sae Rosmer took her sister-son, 

Set him upon his knee ; 
He clappit him sae luifsomely, 

He turned baith blue and blae.* 

And up and spak' she, Svane lyle ; 

" Sir Rosmer, ye're nae to learn, 
That your ten fingers arena sma', 

To clap sae little a bairn." 

There was he till, the fifthen year, 

He green'd for hame and land : 
fe Help me now, sister Svane lyle, 

To be set on the white sand." 

It was proud lady Svane lyle, 

Afore Rosmer can stand : 
" This younker sae lang in the 6ea has been, 

He greens for hame and land." 

" Gin the younker sae lang in the sea has been, 

And greens for hame and land, 
Then I'll gi'e him a kist wi' goud, 

Sae fitting till his hand." 

" And will ye gi'e him a kist wi" goud, 

Sae fitting till his hand ? 
Then hear ye, my noble heartis dear, 

Ye bear them baith to land." 

Then wrought proud lady Svane lyle 

What Rosmer little wist; 
For she's tane out the goud sae red, 

And laid hersel' i' the kist. 

He's ta'en the man upon his back ; 

The kist in his mouth took he ; 
And he has gane the lang way up 

Frae the bottom o' the sea,f 

" Now I ha'e borne thee to the lar.d ; 

Thou seest baith sun and moon ; 
Namena lady Svane for thy highest God, 

I beg thee as a boon." 



* Blue and blae. — In England they say, 
"black and blue;" but the Danish has it, 
" yellow and gray." — Jamieson. 

f This Rosmer Longshanks, as he is called in 
another of the ballads, must have been of the 
most Gargantuan dimensions, not to have been 
sensible, when he put the chest in his mouth, of 
the difference of weight between Svane lyle and 
ajs a chestful of gold. — Jamieson. 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



193 



Rosmer sprang i* the saut sea out, 

And jawp'd it up i' the sky ; 
But whan he cam' till the castell in, 

Nae Svane lyle could he spy. 

Whan he cam' till the castell in, 

His dearest awa' was gane ; 
Like wood he sprang the castell about, 

On the rock o' the black flintstane. 

Glad they were in proud Hillers lyle's house, 

Wi s welcome joy and glee; 
Hame to their friends her bairns were come, 

That had lang been in the sea. 



tartfj 



% self was so much overcome by the parting of his 
j wife and child — for she had now borne a son — 
| that he expressed, even in that last hour, a desire 
of being reconciled to her. But the traitorous 
Lowrie succeeded in preventing him from doing 
so, by a well-aimed sarcasm at his weakness. 
Regarding the ultimate fate of the Marchioness 
I am altogether ignorant. It is, however, very 
improbable that any reconciliation ever took 
place between her and her husband, such as is 
related in the ballad. Her son was afterwards a 
personage of some historical note. When only 
eighteen years of age, he raised the 20th, or 
Cameronian regiment; a band originally asso- 
ciated in 1689 for the purpose of protecting the 
Convention of Estates at Edinburgh, while the 
measure of the Revolution was in agitation, but 
which he afterwards led abroad to fight in King 
William's French wars. He was killed, when 
in the act of leading on the regiment, at the 
battle of Steinkirk, in 1692, when only twenty- 
one years of age. The Marquis of Douglas mar- 
ried a second wife, who bore to him the noted 
Archibald duke of Douglas, Lady Jane Douglas, 
and other children ; and thus, what is a very 
strange circumstance, the venerable Lord Dou- 
glas, who died in 1827, was but grandson to the 
' fause love' who sent the heroine of ' Waly, 
waly,' to take up her couch on Arthur's Seat, 
and slake her thirst at St Anton's Well, in the 
decade of 1670. Lowrie distinguished himself in 
the religious troubles of the reign of Charles II. 
He had been accessory to the insurrection of 
1666, and was condemned to death for his con- 
cern in the affair of Bothwell-bridge, but was 
1 ardoned. Fountainhall describes him as a 
man disliked by people of every party and every 
condition."] 



[The circumstances in real life, which gave 
rise to this ballad, are thus detailed by Mr 
Chambers, from whose collection the ballad is 
taken.—" James second marquis of Douglas, 
when aged twenty- four, married, at Edinburgh, 
on the 7th of September, 1670, Lady Barbara 
Erskine, eldest daughter of John, ninth earl of 
Mar. This lady is said to have been previously 
wooed, without success, by a gentleman of the 
name of Lowrie, who, on account of his after- 
wards marrying Mariotte Weir, heires3 of Black- 
wood, in Lanarkshire, was commonly called, 
according to the custom of Scotland, the Tutor 5 
and sometimes the Laird, of Blackwood. Lowr' 
who seems to have been considerably advanced 
in life at the time, was chamberlain or factor to 
the Marquis of Douglas ; a circumstance which 
gave him peculiar facilities for executing an 
atrocious scheme of vengeance he had projected 
against the lady. By a train of proceedings 
somewhat similar to those of Iago, and in parti- 
cular, by pretending to have discovered a pair of 
men's shoes underneath the Marchioness's bed, 
he completely succeeded in breaking up the affec- 
tion of the unfortunate couple. Lord Douglas, 
who, though a man of profligate conduct, had 
hitherto treated his wife with some degree of 
politeness, now rendered her life so miserable, 
that she was obliged to seek refuge with her 
father. The Earl came with a large retinue, to 
carry her off, when, according to the ballad, as 
well as the tradition of the country, a most * The stanza runs thus in the copy which Mr 

affecting scene took place. The Marquis him- * Motherwell has extracted from the Pepysian 



Part First. 

" O waly, waly, up yon bank, 
And waly, waly, doun yon brae, 

And waly, waly, by yon burn-side, 
Where I and my love wont to gae i 

'* Hey, nonnie, nonnie, but love is bonnie, 
A little while, when it is new ; 

But when it's auld, it waxes cauld, 
And fades away like morning dew.* 



! 



(IK 









194 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



!£j? 



3 



" I leant mj back unto an aik ; 

I thought it was a trusty tree ; 
But first it bowed, and syne it brak, 

And sae did my fause love to me. 

" My mother tauld me, when I was young, 
That young man's love was ill to trow; 

But untill her 1 wald give nae ear, 

And, alace, my ain wand dings me now • 

" had I wist, before I kist, 

That love had been sae ill to win, 

I had locked my heart with a key o' gowd, 
And pinned it wi' a siller pin. 

" O wherefore should I busk my head, 
O wherefore should I kaim my hair, 

Since my true-love has me forsook, 
And says he'll never love me mair ? 

'* As we came in by Glasgow toun, 
We were a comely sicht to see ; 

My love was clad in black velvet, 
And I mysel' in cramasie. 

" Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, 
The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me, 

St Anton's Well shall be my drink, 
Since my true-love has forsaken me.* 



Library. In the ordinary versions, it begins, 
" O waly, waly, but love be bonnie ;" and Allan 
Bamsay gives this line as the title of the song, 
only substituting the word " gin" [if] for " but." 
A third variation is quoted, in Leyden's Intro- 
duction to the " Complaynt of Scotland," from a 
manuscript Cantus, or Collection of Songs, dated 
in the latter part of the seventeenth century : — 

" Hey troly, loly ! love is joly, 

A whyle, whill it is new; 
But when it's old, it grows full cold, 
"Woe worth the love untrue!" 
During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, 
both " nonnie, nonnie," and " Troly, loly !" 
were common burdens of songs. A song under 
the title of " Trolee, lolee," is mentioned in the 
Complaynt of Scotland, 1548, and also in Lane- 
ham's Account of the reception of Queen Eliza- 
beth at Kenilworth, 1575. Perhaps, the elegant 
modern burden, beginning, " Tol de rol, lol de 
rol," may be a genuine descendant of the " Troly, 
loly," of the two centuries before the last. 

Chambers. 
* Arthur's seat is a well-known hill near Edin- s 




" Oh, Martimas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 
And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 

Oh, gentle death, when wilt thou come, 
And take a life that wearies me ? 

" It's not the frost that freezes fell, 
Nor driftin' snaw's iuclemencie; 

It's not sic cauld that makes me cry, 

But my love's heart's grown cauld to me. 

" And oh, an my young babe was born, 

And set upon the nurse's knee, 
And I mysel' were deid and gane, 

And the green grass growing over me ! 

" When lords and lairds cam' to this toun, 

And gentlemen o' high degree, 
I took my auld son in my arms, 

And went to my chamber pleasantlie. 

" But when lords and lairds come neist to the 
And gentlemen o' high degree, [toun, 

" O, I maun sit in the dark, alane, 

Wi' my young son on the nurse's knee ! 

O, I maun sit in the dark, alane, 
And ne'er a ane to comfort me !" 

Part Second. 
" When I lay sick, and very sick, 

When I lay sick, and like to die, 
A gentleman of good account 

Came from the west to visit me ; 
But Blackwood whisper'd in my lord's ear, 

He was ower lang in the chamber wi' me. 

" When I was sick, and very sick, 
When I was sick, and like to die, 

As I drew near to my stair-head, 
I heard my ain lord lichtlie me. 






burgh, and St Anton's, or St Anthony's Well, a 
fountain which springs from its side, near to the 
ruins of a small chapel and hermitage, the ten- 
ant of which it must have supplied with water. 
The explanation here given of the occasion of the 
ballad is countenanced by local circumstances. 
The forlorn countess, in alluding to the period 
when she was an honoured wife, speaks of a visit 
to Glasgow, a city near to her husband's residence 
and estates : in alluding to her present degraded 
condition, when residing with her father at 
Edinburgh, she introduces Arthur's Seat and St 
Anthony's Well, two objects of note in the im- 
mediate vicinity of the capital.— Chambers. 



■^Jv<aG§L>llL. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



195 



" Gae, little page, and tell your lord, 
Gin he'll come doun and dine wi' me, 

I'll set him on a chair o' gowd, 

And serve him on my bended knee." 

The little page gaed up the stair : 

" Lord Douglas, dine wi' your ladye ; 

She'll set ye on a chair o' gowd, 

And serve ye on her bended knee." 

** When cockle shells turn silver balls, 
When wine dreips red frae ilka tree, 

When frost and snaw will warm us a', 
Then I'll come doun and dine wi' thee." 

" What ails you at your youngest son, 
That sits upon the nurse's knee ? 

I'm sure that he has done nae harm, 
Unless to his ain nurse and me. 

" If I had kent what I ken now, 

That love it was so ill to win, 
I should ne'er ha' wet my cherry cheek, 

For ony man or mother's son. 

" But when my father got word o' this, 

what an angry man was he ' 

He sent fourscore o' his archers bauld, 
To bring me safe to his ain countrie. 

" When I rose up, then, in the morn, 

My goodly palace for to lea', 
I knocked at my lord's chamber door, 

But ne'er a word wad he speak to me. 

" Fare ye weel, then, Jamie Douglas; 

1 need care as little as ye care for me : 
The Earl of Mar is my father dear, 

And I sune will see my ain countrie. 

" Ye thocht that I was like yoursel', 

And loving ilk ane I did see ; 
But here I swear by the heavens clear, 

I never loved a man but thee. 

" Slowly, slowly, rase he up, 

And slowly, slowly cam' he doun ; 

And when he saw me set on his horse, 

He garred his drums and trumpets sound. 

" When I upon my horse was set, 
My tenants all were with me ta'en; 

They set them doun upon their knees, 
And they begged me to came back again. 



"It's fare ye weel, my bonnie palace, 
And fare ye weel, my children three ! 

God grant your father may get mair grace, 
And love ye better than he has loved me. 

" It's fare ye weel, my servants all, 
And you, my bonnie children three ! 

God grant your father grace to be kind, 
Till I see you safe in my ain countrie. 

" Now wae be to you, fause Blackwood, 
Aye, and an ill death may you dee ! 

Ye was the first and foremost man, 
That parted my true love and me." 

Part Third. 

" As on we cam' to Edinburgh toun, 
My gude father he welcomed me. 

He caused his minstrels meet to sound : 
It was nae music at a' to me ; 

For nae mirth nor music sounds in my ear 
Since my true love's forsaken me." 

" Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear, 
And of your weeping let me be ; 

For a bill of divorce I'll gar write for him, 
And I'll get as gude a lord to thee." 

" Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear, 

And o' such talking let me be ; 
I wadna gi'e ae look o' my guid lord's face 

For all the lords in the north countrie. 

" Oh, I'll cast aff my robes o' red, 
And I'll put on my robes o' blue ; 

And I will travel to some other land, 
To see gin my love will on me rue. 

" There sail nae wash come on my face ; 

There sail nae kame come in my hair; 
There sail neither coal nor candle-licht 

Be seen intill my bouir mair." 

When she cam' to her father's land, 

The tenants a' cam' her to see ; 
Never a word she could speak to them, 

But the buttons aff her claes would flie. 

" The lintie is a bonnie bird, 
And aften flies far frae its nest ; 

Sae a' the world may plainly see, 
They're far awa' that I love best. 



196 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Part Fourth. 

As she was sitting at her bouir window, 

Looking afar ower hill and glen, 
Wha did she see but fourscore soldiers, 

That cam' to tak ! her back again. 

Out bespak' the foremost man ; 

And whaten a weel-spoken man was he ! 
" If the Lady Douglas be within, 

Ye'll bid her come doun and speak to me." 

But out bespak' her father then ; 

I wat an angry man was he ! 
'* Ye may gang back the gate ye cam', 

For her face again ye'll never see." 

" Now haud your tongue, my father," she says, 

" And of your folly let me be ; 
For I'll gae back to my gude lord, 

Since his love has come back to me." 

Sae she has dressed hersel' fu' braw, 
And mounted on her dapple grey, 

And, like a queen, wi' her men behind, 
She has ridden gayly out the way 

She laughed like ony new-made bride, 

When she took fare weel o ' her father's towers; 

But the tear, 1 wat, stude in her e'e, 

When she cam' in sicht o' her lover's bowers. 

As she cam' by the Orange gate, 
Whaten a bly the sicht did she see ; 

Her gude lord coming her to meet, 
And in his hand her bairnies three ! 

" Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

That I may drink to my ladie :" 
She took the cup intill her hand, 

But her bonnie heart it brak' in three. 



[First published in Scott's Minstrelsy.—" Jel 
Ion," says Sir Walter, "seems to be the same 
name with Jyllian or Julian. ' Jyl of Brentford's 
Testament' is mentioned in Warton's History of 
Poetry, Vol. II. p. 40. The name repeatedly 



occurs in old ballads, sometimes as that of a 
man, at other times as that of a woman. Of the 
| former is an instance in the ballad of 'The 
Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter.' — Re- 
liques of Ancient Poetry, Vol. III. 72 : — 



" Witton Gilbert, a village four miles west 
of Durham, is, throughout the bishopric, pro- 
nounced Witton Jilbert. We have also the 
common name of Giles, always in Scotland pro- 
nounced Jill. For Gille, or Juliana, as a female 
name, we have Fair Gillian of Croyden, and a 
thousand authorities."] 

Jellon Grame sat in Silverwood,* 
He sharped his broad sword lang ; 

And he has called his little foot-page 
An errand for to gang. 

" Win up, my bonnie boy," he says, 

" As quickly as ye may ; 
For ye maun gang for Lillie Flower 

Before the break of day. 

The boy has buckled his belt about, 
And through the green-wood ran ; 

And he came to the ladye's bovver 
Before the day did dawn. 

" O sleep ye, wake ye, Lillie Flower ? 

The red sun's on the rain ; 
Ye're bidden come to Silverwood, 

But I doubt ye'll ne'er win name." 

She hadna ridden a mile, a mile, 

A mile but barely three, 
Ere she came to a new-made grave 

Beneath a green aik tree. 

O then up started Jellon Grame, 

Out of a bush thereby ; 
** Light down, light down, now, Lillie Flower, 

For it's here that ye maun lye." 

* Silverwood, mentioned in this ballad, occurs 
in a medley MS. song, which seems to have been 
copied from the first edition of the Aberdeen 
cantus, penes John G. Dalyell, Esq. advocate. 
One line only is cited, apparently the beginning 
of some song : — 
} Silverwood, gin yc were mine.— Scott. 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



197 






y 



She lighted aff her milk-white steed, 

And kneel 'd upon her knee ; 
" O mercy, mercy, Jellon Grame, 

For I'm no prepared to dee ! 

** Your bairn, that stirs between my sides, 

Maun shortly see the light ; 
But to see it weltering in my blood, 

Would be a piteous sight." 

" should I spare your life," he says, 
" Until that bairn were born, 

Full weel I ken your auld father 
Would hang me on the morn." 

" O spare my life, now, Jellon Grame ! 

My father ye needna dread ; 
I'll keep my babe in gude green-wood, 

Or wi' it I'll beg my bread." 

He took no pity on Lillie Flower, 
Though she for her life did pray ; 

But pierced her through the fair body 
As at his feet she lay. 

He felt nae pity for Lillie Flower, 

Where she was lying dead ; 
But he felt some for the bonnie bairn, 

That lay weltering in her bluid. 

Up has he ta'en that bonnie boy, 

Given him to nurses nine ; 
Three to sleep, and three to wake, 

And three to go between. 

And he bred up that bonnie boy, 

Called him his sister's son : 
And he thought no eye could ever see 

The deed that he had done. 

O so it fell upon a day, 

When hunting they might be, 

They rested then in Silverwood, 
Beneath that green aik tree. 

And many were the green -wood flowers 

Upon the grave that grew, 
And marvel! 'd much that bonnie boy 

To see their lovely hue. 

** What's paler than the prymrose wan ? 

What's redder than the rose ? 
What's fairer than the lilye flower 

On this wee know that grows ?" 



O out and answered Jellon Grame, 

And he spak' hastilie— 
" Your mother was a fairer flower, 

And lies beneath this tree. 

" More pale she was, when she sought my grace, 

Than prymrose pale and wan ; 
And redder than rose her ruddy heart's blood, 

That down my broad sword ran." 

Wi' that the boy has bent his bow, 

It was baith stout and lang ; 
And through and through him Jellon Grame, 

He gar'd an arrow gang. 

Says, — " Lie ye there, now, Jellon Grame ! 

My malisoun gang you wi' ! 
The place that my mother lies buried in 

Is far too good for thee." 



[Communicated to the Border Minstrelsy by 
Mr Kirkpatrick Sharpe of Hoddom, who men- 
tions having copied it from an old magazine. 
" Although it has probably received some mo- 
dern corrections," says Sir Walter Scott, " the 
general turn seems to be ancient, and corre- 
sponds with that of a fragment, containing the 
following verses, which I have often' heard sung 
in my childhood : 

She set her back against a thorn, 

And there she has her young son born; 

" O smile nae sae, my bonnie babe ! 

An ye smile sae sweet, ye'll smile me dead." 



" O bonnie boy, an' ye were mine, 
I'd clead ye in the silks sae fine." 
" O mither dear, when I was thine, 
To me ye were na half sae kind." 



" Stories of this nature are very common in 
the annals of popular superstition. It is, for 
example, currently believed in Ettrick Forest, 
that a libertine, who had destroyed fifty.six 
inhabited houses, in order to throw the posses- 
sions of the cottagers into his estate, and who 






^ 






198 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



added, to this injury, that of seducing their < 
daughters, was wont to commit to a carrier in 
the neighbourhood the care of his illegitimate 
children, shortly after they were born. His 
emissary regularly carried them away, but they 
were never again heard of. The unjust and 
cruel gains of the profligate laird were dissipated 
by his extravagance, and the ruins of his house 
seem to bear witness to the truth of the rhythm- 
ical prophecies denounced against it, and still 
current among the peasantry. He himself died 
an untimely death ; but the agent of his amours 
and crimes survived to extreme old age. When on 
his death-bed, he seemed much oppressed in mind, 
and sent for a clergyman to speak peace to his de- 
parting spirit: but, before the messenger return- 
ed, the man was in his last agony ; and the terri- 
fied assistants had fled from his cottage, unani- 
mously averring, that the wailing of murdered 
infants had ascended from behind his couch, 
and mingled with the groans of the departing 
sinner."] 

Fair lady Anne sate in her bower, 

Down by the greenwood side, 
And the flowers did spring, and the birds did 
sing, 

'Twas the pleasant May-day tide. 

But fair lady Anne on Sir William call'd, 

With the tear grit in her e'e, 
"O though thou be fause, may heaven thee 
guard, 

In the wars ayont the sea !" 

Out of the wood came three bonnie boys, 

Upon the simmer's morn. 
And they did sing, and play at the ba', 

As naked as they were bora. 

" O seven lang years wad I sit here, 

Amang the frost and snaw, 
A' to ha'e but ane o' these bonnie boys, 

A playing at the ba'." 

Then up and spake the eldest boy, 

" Now listen thou fair ladie, 
And ponder well the read that I tell, 

Then make ye a choice of the three. 

" 'Tis I am Peter, and this is Paul, 

And that ane, sae fair to see, 
But a twelve-month sinsyne to paradise came, 

To join with our companie." 



"01 will ha'e the snaw-white boy, 

The bonniest of the three." 
" And if I were thine, and in thy propme,* 

O what wad ye do to me ?" 

" 'Tis I wad dead thee in silk and gowd, 
And nourice thee on my knee." 

" O mither ! mither ! when I was thine, 
Sic kindness I couldna see. 

" Beneath the turf, where now I stand, 

The fause nurse buried me ; 
The cruel penknife sticks still in my heart, 

And I come not back to thee." 



[From the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. — 
"This ballad," says Sir Walter, "is published 
from the collation of two copies, obtained from 
recitation. It seems to be the rude original, or 
perhaps a corrupted and imperfect copy, of The 
Child of Elle, a beautiful legendary tale, pub- 
lished in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry. It is 
singular, that this charming ballad should have 
been translated, or imitated, by the celebrated 
Burger, without acknowledgment of the English 
original. As The Child of Elle avowedly received 
corrections, we may ascribe its greatest beauties 
to the poetical taste of the ingenious editor. 
They are in the true style of Gothic embellish- 
ment. We may compare, for example, the fol- 
lowing beautiful verse, with the same idea in an 
old romance : — 

The baron stroked his dark-brown cheek, 

And turned his face aside, 
To wipe away the starting tear 

He proudly strove to hide ! 

Child of Elle. 

The heathen Soldan, or Amiral, when about 
to slay two lovers, relents in a similar manner- 
Weeping, he turned his heued awai, 
And his swerde hit lei to grounde. 

Florice and Blauncheflour.] 



* Propina — Usually gift, but here the power of 
giving or bestowing. — Scott, 









SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



199 



Eri-inton had a fair daughter, i 

I wat he weird her in a great sin,* 

For he has built a bigly bower, 
An' a' to put that lady in. 

An' he has warn'd her sisters six, 
An' sae has he her brethren se'en, 

Outher to watch her a' the night, 
Or else to seek her morn an' e'en. 

She hadna been i' that bigly bower, 
Na not a night, but barely ane, 

Till there was Willie, her ain true love, 
Chapp'd at the door, cryin', " Peace 
within!" 

" whae is this at my bower door, 

That chaps sae late, or kens the gin ?"f 

" O it is "Willie, your ain true love, 
I pray you rise an' let me in !" 

" But in my bower there is a wake, 
An' at the wake there is a wane ;i. 

But I'll come to the green-wood the morn, 
Whar blooms the brier, by mornin' dawn." 

Then she's gane to her bed again, 

Where she has layen till the cock crew 
thrice, 

Then she said to her sisters a', 

"Maidens, 'tis time for us to rise." 

She pat on her back a silken gown, 

An' on her breast a siller pin, 
An' she's tane a sister in ilka hand, 

An' to the green- wood she is gane. 

She hadna walk'd in the green-wood, 

Na not a mile but barely ane, 
Till there was Willie, her ain true love, 

Whae frae her sisters has her ta'en. 

He took her sisters by the hand, 

He kiss'd them baith, an' sent them hame, 
An' he's ta'en his true love him behind, 

And through the green-wood they are 
gane. 



* Weird her in a great sin — Placed her in dan- 
ger of committing a great sin. — Scott. 

t Gin— The slight or trick necessary to open 
the door; from engine. — Scott. 

% Wane — A number of people —SjcatL 



They hadna ridden in the bonnie green-wood, 

Na not a mile but barely ane, 
When there came fifteen o' the boldest knights, 

That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane. 

The foremost was an aged knight, 
He wore the grey hair on his chin, 

Says, " Yield to me thy lady bright, 

An' thou shalt walk the woods within." 

" For me to yield my lady bright 

To such an aged knight as thee, 
People wad think I war gane mad, 

Or a' the courage flown frae me." 

But up then spake the second knight, 
I wat he spake right boustouslie, 

" Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright, 
Or here the tane of us shall die." 

"My lady is my warld's meed: 

My life I winna yield to nane; 
But if ye be men of your manhead, 

Ye'll only fight me ane by ane." 

He lighted aff his milk-white steed, 
An' gae his lady him by the head, 

Say'n, " See ye dinna change your cheer, 
Untill ye see my body bleed." 

He set his back unto an aik, 

He set his feet against a stane, 
An' he has fought these fifteen men, 

An' kill'd them a' but barely ane; 
For he has left that aged knight, 

An' a' to carry the tidings hame. 

When he gaed to his lady fair, 

I wat he kiss'd her tenderlie ; 
" Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought ; 

Now we shall walk the green-wood free." 



[First published in the Border Minstrelsy. — 
"In this ballad," says Sir Walter, "the reader 
will find traces of a singular superstition, not 
yet altogether discredited in the wilder parts of 
Scotland. The lykewake, or watching a dead 
body, in itself a melancholy office, is rendered, in 
3[ the idea of the assistants, more dismally awful* 



200 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



il 



by the mysterious horrors of superstition. In the { 
interval betwixt the death and interment, the 
disembodied spirit is supposed to hover around 
its mortal habitation, and, if invoked by certain 
rites, retains the power of communicating, 
through its organs, the cause of its dissolution. 
Such inquiries, however, are always dangerous, 
and never to be resorted to, unless the deceased 
is suspected to have suffered foul play, as it is 
called. It is the more unsafe to tamper with this 
charm in an unauthorized manner, because the 
inhabitants of the infernal regions are, at such 
periods, peculiarly active. One of the most po- 
tent ceremonies in the charm, for causing the 
dead body to speak, is, setting the door ajar, or 
half open. On this account, the peasants of 
Scotland sedulously avoid leaving the door ajar, 
while a corpse lies in the house. The door must | 
either be left wide open, or quite shut ; but the 
first is always preferred, on account of the exer- 
cise of hospitality usual on such occasions. The 
attendants must be likewise careful never to 
leave the corpse for a moment alone, or if it is 
left alone, to avoid, with a degree of superstitious 
horror, the first sight of it. The following story, 
which is frequently related by the peasants of 
Scotland, will illustrate the imaginary danger of 
leaving the door ajar. In former times, a man 
and his wife lived in a solitary cottage, on one of 
the extensive border fells. One day the husband 
died suddenly; and his wife, who was equally 
afraid of staying alone by the corpse, or leaving 
the dead body by itself, repeatedly went to the 
door, and looked anxiously over the lonely moor 
for the sight of some person approaching. In 
her confusion and alarm, she accidentally left 
the door ajar, when the corpse suddenly started 
up, and sat in the bed, frowning and grinning at 
her frightfully. She sat alone, crying bitterly, j 
unable to avoid the fascination of the dead man's 
eye, and too much terrified to break the sullen 
silence, till a catholic priest, passing over the 
wild, entered the cottage. He first set the door 
quite open, then put his little finger in his 
mouth, and said the paternoster backwards; 
when the horrid look of the corpse relaxed, it 
fell back on the bed, and behaved itself as a dead 
man ought to do. 

" The ballad is given from tradition. I have 
been informed by a lady of the highest literary 
eminence, that she has heard a ballad on the 
same subject, in which the scene was laid upon 
the banks of the river Clyde. The chorus 
was 



' O Bothwell banks bloom bonnie,' 

and the watching of the dead corpse was said to 
have taken place in Bothwell church."] 

Ok a' the maids o' fair Scotland, 

The fairest was Marjorie ; 
And young Benjie was her ae true love, 

And a dear true love was he. 

And wow ! but they were lovers dear, 

And loved fu' constantlie ; 
But ay the mair when they fell out, 

The sairer was their plea.* 

And they ha'e quarrelled on a day, 
Till Marjorie's heart grew wae ; 

And she said she'd chuse another luve, 
And let young Benjie gae. 

And he was stout,f and proud-hearted. 

And thought o't bitterlie; 
And he's gane by the wan moon-light, 

To meet his Marjorie. 

" O open, open, my true love, 

O open, and let me in !" 
" I darena open, young Benjie, 

My three brothers are within." 

" Ye lied, ye lied, ye bonnie burd, 

Sae loud's I hear ye lie ; 
As I came by the Lowden banks, 

They bade gude e'en to me. 

" But fare ye weel, my ae fause love, 

That 1 have loved sae lang ! 
It sets ye chuse another love, 

And let young Benjie gang." 

Then Marjorie turned her round about, 

The tear blinding her e'e, — 
" 1 darena, daiena, let thee in, 

But I'll come down to thee."' 

Then saft she smiled, and said to him, 

" O what ill ha'e I done ?" 
He took her in his armis twa, 

And threw her o'er the linn. 



* Plea — Used obliquely for dispute. — Scott. 
+ Stout —Through this whole ballad, (unless i 
^> in one instance,) signifies haughty.— Scott. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



201 



Then they've ta'en up the comely corpse, 

And laid it on the ground — 
" O wha has killed our ae sister, 

And how can he be found ? 

" The night it is her low lykewake, 

The morn her burial day, 
And we maun watch at mirk midnight, 

And hear what she will say." 

Wi* doors ajar, and candle light, 

And torches burning clear ; 
The streikit corpse, till still midnight, 

They waked, but naething hear. 

About the middle o' the night, 

The cocks began to craw • 
And at the dead hour o' the night, 

The corpse began to thraw. 

" O whae has done the wrang, sister, 

Or dared the deadly sin ? 
Whae was sae stout, and feared nae dout, 

As thraw ye o'er the linn ?" 

" Young Benjie was the first ae man 

I laid my love upon ; 
He was sae stout, and proud -hearted, 

He threw me o'er the linn." 

" Sail we young Benjie head, sister, 

Sail we young Benjie hang, 
Or sail we pike out his twa gray een, 

And punish him ere he gang ?" 

'•' Ye mauna Benjie head, brothers, 

Ye mauna Benjie hang, 
But ye maun pike out his twa gray een, 

And punish him ere he gang. 



The stream was Strang, the maid was stout, & 

And laith laith to be dang, 
Bat, ere she wan the Lowden banks, 

Her fair colour was wan. 



Then up bespak' her eldest brother, 

" see na ye what I see ?" 
And out then spak' her second brother, 

" It's our sister Marjorie !" 

Out then spak' her eldest brother, 

" O how shall we her ken ?" 
And oat then spak' her youngest brother, 

" There's a honey mark on her chin." 



"Tie a green gravat roun3 his neck, 

And lead him out and in, 
And the best ae servant about your house 

To wait young Benjie on. 

" And aye, at every seven years' end, 

Yell tak' him to the linn ; 
For thafs the penance he maun drie, 

To scug* his deadly sin." 



©i&e @nzm of Jfflfog 



[This was a contribution of J. B. Morritt to 
the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Mr Mor- 
ritt of Eokeby in Yorkshire, was one of Sir 
Walter Scott's most valued friends. He died in 
1843. — " The Castle of Moy is the ancient resi- 
dence of Mackintosh, the chief of the Clan-Chat- 
tan. It is situated among the mountains of 
Inverness-shire, not far from the military road 
that leads to Inverness. It stands in the hollow 
of a mountain, on the edge of a small gloomy- 
lake, called Loch Moy, surrounded by a black 
wood of Scotch fir, which extends round the 
lake, and terminates in wild heaths, which are 
unbroken by any other object, as far as the eye 
can reach. The tale is founded on an ancient 
Highland tradition j that originated in a feud 
between the clans of Chattan and Grant. A 
small rocky island in Loch Moy is still shown, 
where stood the dungeon in which prisoners 
were confined, by the former chiefs of Moy."] 

Loud in the gloomy towers of Moy, 
The Chattan clan their carol raise,f 

And far th' ascending flame of joy 

Shoots o'er the loch its trembling blaze. 

For long within her secret bower, 

In child-bed lay the lady fair, 
But now is come th' appointed hour, 

And vassals shout.. "An heir ' an heir '• 



* Saig — shelter or expiate. — Scott 

f The Chattan clan is a federal clan, consisting 

of the families of Macintosh, Macpherson, and 

some others of less consequence. The chief is the 

laird of Macintosh ; the Chattan country is in the 

Finland part of Inverness-shire. — Scott. 



202 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



And round the fire with many a tale, 

The well-spiced bowl the dames prolong, 
Save when the chieftains' shouts prevail, 
• Or war's wild chorus swells the song. 

Loud sound the pipes, the dancer's heel 
Bounds nimbly from the floor of pine, 

When in the light and mazy reel 

Young maids and active soldiers join. 

Late waned the night, the blazing brand 
More feebly glimmered in the hall, 

Less loudly shout the jovial band, 
Less lively sounds the pibroch's call.* 

"When from the corner of the hearth, 

A figure crept, of all the train 
Most alien from a scene of mirth, 

And muttering siglvd, " 'Tis vain, 'tis 
vain !" 

Soon ceased the shout, a general thrill 
Seiz'd every heart ; th' ill omen'd voice 

Seem'd e'en the warrior's breast to chill, 
Nor dared the trembling sire rejoice. 

He saw a pale and shiv'ring form, 
By age and frenzy haggard made ; 

Her eyes, still wild with passion's storm, 
Belied the snows that shroud her head. 

Long had she wander'd on the heath, 
Or begg'd the lonely trailer's aid, 

And gossips swear that sudden death 
Still follow where her footsteps tread. 

Her hut on Badenoch's wildest height, 
Full well the mountain hunter knew, 

Nor paused to take a narrower sight, 

But cursed the witch and quick with- 
drew. 

Slowly she crawl'd before the throng, 
Fix'd on the chief her haggard eyes, 

Check'd with a look the minstrel's song, 
" No more," she cried, "No more rejoice ! 



* The pibroch is a wild music, played by the 
piper at the assembling of a clan, in marches, &c. 
Every clan had its own particular tune, which 
was played most scrupulously and indefatigably 
on all great and signal occasions.— Scott. 



► " To you that o'er your midnight ale 
Have listened to the tales of glee, 
I come to tell a gossip's tale ; 

Ill-omen'd chieftain ! list to me." 

The Witch's Tale. 
" Full sixty fatal years have roll'd, 

Since clamour shook these gloomy towers ; 
When Moy's black chief, with Urquhart old,f 

Led Grant's and Chattan's mingled powers. 

" Like you their followers shouted brave, 
Like yours the minstrels answer'd loud, 

Like you they 'gan the dance to weave, 
And round and round the goblet flow'd 

" In solemn guise the chieftains came, 
To solemn league the chieftains swore ; 

To quench the death-feud's fatal flame, 
And dye the heath with blood no more. 

" Fair rose the morn, and Urquhart's pow'rs 
To Moray's hostile border fiew,| 

But ling'ring in the Chattan tow'rs, 
The aged chief the last withdrew. 

" Homewards he turned, some younger arm 
Shall lead the war on the banks of Spey ; 

But sharp was the sleet, and cold the storm, 
That whistled at eve in his locks so gray. 

" With him went Alva's heir, who stay'd,§ 
The chieftain's weal or woe to share ; 

f Grant, the laird of Urquhart, was the chief 
of the clan of Grant; his castle of Urquhart, 
now in ruins, covers one of the most beautiful of 
the craggy promontories that adorn Loch Ness. 
The delightful vale of Glen Urquhart is embo- 
somed in the mountains behind it. The posses- 
sions of the clan in the southern part of Inver- 
ness-shire, border on those of the clan Chattan, 
with whom, of course, they were continually at 
variance. — Scott. 

| The Lowland district of Moray, or Elgin- 
shire, along the banks of the Spey, being com- 
paratively fertile and civilized, and in the imme- 
diate vicinity of the Grampians, was long expos- 
ed to the ravages and inroads of the Highland 
clans, who possessed the mountains on the 
border, and the upper part of Strathspey.— Scott. 

§ Alva is an ancient possession of a chieftain of 
the family of Grant.— Scott. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



203 



So TTrquharf s trembling daughter pray'd, 
So Alva vow'd, who loved her dear. 

" But drear was Badenoch's wintry waste, 
And mirk the night that round them fell, 

As over their heads the night -raven past, 

And they enter'd Glen Iral's darkling dell.* 

" The raven scream'd, and a slogan yell 
Burst from Glen Iral's sable wood, 

They heard in the gale a bugle swell, 
They saw in the shade a man of blood. 

" Grimly he points, and a hundred hands 
Their horses seize ; in that fatal hour, 

Unarm'd, defenceless, Urquhart stands, 
But Alva has drawn his broad claymore. 

" ' Stand fast, Craig-Ellachie,' he cried,f 
As his stalwart stroke the foremost slew; 

Alas ! no friendly voice replied, 

But the broad claymore in fragments flew. 

" And sad was the heart of Alva's heir, 

And he thought of Urquhart's scenes of joy, 

"When instead of her smile that he loved so 
dear, 
He met the haughty scowl of Moy. 

" And far across the wintry waste, 
And far from Marg'ret's bow'r of joy, 

In silent haste, and in chains they past, 

To groan and despair in the towers of Moy. 

" On yonder rock their prison stood, 
Deep in the dungeon's vault beneath, 

The pavement still wet with the rising flood, 
And heavy, and dank, is the fog they breathe. 

" Three days were past — with streaming eye, 
With bursting heart, and falt'ring breath, 

What maiden sues at the feet of Moy, 

To save their life, or to share their death ? 

" *Tis Marg'ret ; in whose heart the tale 
Had waken'd the first sad sigh of grief, 

And wan and pale from Urquhart's vale, 
She flew to the tow'r of the gloomy chief. 



* The Iral is a small stream that rises in the 
Chattan country, and falls into the river of 
Nairn, between Moy and Loch Ness. — Scott. 

f Craig-Ellachie, where was the place of as- 



" Beneath his darken'd brow, the smile 
Of pleas'd revenge with hatred strove, 
And he thought of the hours, perchance, the 
while 
When she slighted his threats, and scorn'd 
his love. 

" And thus he spoke, with trait'rous voice, 
' Oh ! not in vain can Margaret plead ; 

One life I spare — be her's the choice, 

And one for my clan and my kin shall bleed. 

" ' Oh will she not a lover save, 
But dash his hopes of mutual joy, 

And doom the brave to the silent grave, 
To ransom a sire from the sword of Moy ? 

" ' Or will she not a father spare, 

But here his last spark of life destroy, 

And will she abandon his silvery hair, 
And wed her love in the halls of Moy ?' 

" Oh have you seen the shepherd swain, 
While heav'n is calm on the hills around, 

And swelling in old Comri'3 plain, £ 

Earth shakes, and thunders burst the ground; 

" Like him aghast did Marg'ret stand, 

Wild start her eyes from her burning head, 

Nor stirs her foot, nor lifts her hand ; 
The chastisement of heaven is sped. 

" Long mute she stands, when before her eyes, 
From the dungeon's cave, from the gloomy 

In the mournful wood two forms arise, [lake, 
And she of the two her choice must make. 

" And wildly she sought her lover's breast, 
And madly she kiss'd his clanking chain ; 

' Home, home,' she cried, ' be my sire releas'd, 
While Alva and I in the grave remain. 

" 'And my father will rest, and our name be blest, 
When Moy's vile limbs shall be strew'd on 
the shore ; 

The pine tree shall wave o'er our peaceful grave, 
Till together we wake to weep no more.' 



sembling of the clan of Grant, was also the slo- 
gan or war-cry of the clan. — Scott. 

\ The vale of Comri, in Perthshire, where 
earthquakes are still frequently felt, is in the 
higher part of Strathearn, near Crieff. — Scott. 



204 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" The tear from Urquhart's eye that stole, 
As rung in his ear his daughter's cry, 

Ceased on his furrow'd cheek to roll, [Moy. 
When he mark'd the scorn of the gloomy 

" And stately rose his stiffen 'd form, 

And seemed to throw off the load of age, 

As gather'd in his eye the storm 

Of feudal bate, and a chieftain's rage. 

" ' False traitor ! though thy greedy ear 
Hath drunk the groan of an enemy, 

Yet inly rankle shame and fear, 

While rapture and triumph smile on me. 

" 'And thou, my best, my sorrowing child, 
Whate'er my fate, thy choice recall ! 

These towers, with human blood defiled, 
Shall hide my corse, and atone my fall. 

« ' Why should I live the scorn of slaves ? 

From me no avenger shall I see, 
Where fair Lochness my castle laves, 

To lead my clan to victory. 

" ' White are my hairs, my course is run, — 

To-morrow lays thy father low; 
But Alva safe, with yonder sun 

He shall rise in blood on the hills of snow. 

" ' If Alva falls, and falls for me, 
A father's curse is over thy grave ; 

But safe and free let him wend with thee, 
And my dying blessing thou shalt have.' 

" The maid stood aghast, and her tears fell fast, 
As to the wild heath she turn'd to flee ; 

' Be Alva safe,' she sigh'd as she past, 

* To Badenoch's height let him follow me.' 

" She sat her down on the blasted heath, 
And hollowly sounded the glen below ; 

She heard in the gale the groan of death, 

She answered the groan with a shriek of woe. 

" And slowly tow'rds the mountain's head, 
With a sable bier four ruffians hied ; 

' And here,' they said, ' is thy father dead, 
And thy lover's corse is cold at his side.' 

" They laid the bodies on the bent, 
Each in his bloody tartan roll'd ; 

' Now sing Craig-Ellachie's lament, [cold.' 
For her chiefs are dead, and her hopes are 



" She sigh'd not as she turned away,— 
No tear-drop fell from her frozen eya ; 

But a night and a day, by their side did stay, 
In stupid speechless agony. 

"And another she staid, and a cairn she made,* 
And piled it high, with many a groan ; 

As it rises white, on Badenoch's height, 
She mutters a prayer over every stone. 

" She pray'd, that, childless and forlorn 
The chief of Moy might pine away : 

That the sleepless night, and the careful morn, 
Might wither his limbs in slow decay ; 

" That never the son of a chief of Moy 
Might live to protect his father's age, 

Or close in peace his dying eye, 
Or gather his gloomy heritage. 

"But, still as they fall, some distant breed, 
With sordid hopes, and with marble heart, 

By turns to the fatal towers succeed, 
Extinct by turns to the grave depart. 

" Then loud did she laugh, for her burning brain 
The soothing showers of grief denied ; 

And still, when the moon is on the wane, 
She seeks her hut on the mountain's sid«. 

" There sits she oft to curse the beam 
That vexes her brain with keener woe ; 

Full well the shepherd knows her scream, 
When he sinks on the moor in the drifted 
snow. 

" Seven times has she left her wretched cell 
To cheer her sad heart with gloomy joy, 

When the fury of heaven, or the blasts of hell, 
Have wither'd the hopes of the house of Moy. 

'* And now '. at your feast, an unbidden guest, 
She bids you the present hour enjoy ; 

For the blast of death is on the heath, 

And the grave yawns wide for the child of 
Moy." 

Here ceased the tale, and with it ceased 
The revels of the shuddering clan ; 

Despair had seized on every breast, 
In every vein chill terrors ran. 

* A cairn is a heap of loose stones, the usual 
&i memorial of an ancient burying-place.— Scott. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



205 



To the mountain hut is Margret sped, 

Yet her voice still rings in the ear of Moy ; 

Scarce shone the morn on the mountain's head, 
When the lady wept o'er her dying boy. 

And long in Moy's devoted tower 

Shall Marg'ret's gloomy curse prevail; 

And mothers, in the child-bed hour, 

Shall shudder to think on the witch's tale. 



[The author of this celebrated ballad was 
Lady Wardlaw, second daughter of Sir Charles 
Halket of Pitfirrane, a gentleman of Fife, in 
Scotland. She was born in 1677, and in 1696 
was married to Sir Henry Wardlaw, of Balum- 
lie, or Pitrivie, also in Fife. She died about the 
year 1727. This lady, who must be allowed to 
have possessed poetical talents of no common 
order, considering that she lived at so dark 
a period in the literary history of Scotland, 
attempted at first to pass off Hardyknute as a 
genuine fragment of ancient ballad. She caused 
her brother-in-law, Sir John Bruce of Kinross, 
to communicate the MS. to Lord Binning, (son 
of the poetical Earl of Haddington, and himself 
a poet, ) w ith the following account : " In perfor- 
mance of my promise, I send you a true copy of 
the manuscript I found, a few weeks ago, in an 
old vault at Dunfermline. It is written on vel- 
lum, in a fair Gothic character, but so much de- 
faced by time, as you will find, that the tenth 
part is not legible." The ballad was first pub- 
lished in 1719, by some literary gentlemen, who 
believed it to be what the authoress pretended ; 
and it was afterwards admitted by Ramsay into 
the Evergreen, as a composition of the antique 
nature proper to that collection. For many 
years, it was generally received as a genuine old 
ballad; nor does any one ever seem to have 
questioned its pretensions to that character. 
Dr Percy at length, in his Reliques, published in 
1755, disclosed the real fact of its authorship, 
which has latterly been confirmed beyond a 
doubt by other writers. Mr Hepburn of Keith, 
a gentleman well known in the early part of the 
last century for high honour and probity of cha- 
racter often declared that he was in the house 
with Lady Wardlaw at the time she wrote the 



ballad; and Mrs Wedderburn of Gosford, Lady 
Wardlaw's daughter, and Mrs Menzies of 
Woodend, her sister-in-law, used to be equally- 
positive as to the fact. See Chalmers' edition of 
Ramsay's Works, London, 1800.— Chambers. 

The historical events upon which the ballad 
is founded are the following. — In 1263, Haco, 
king of Norway or Denmark, under pretence 
that Arran and the islands adjacent formed 
part of the Western Isles, then subject to him, 
fitted out a large armament, with which he 
overran Kintire and the islands in dispute. 
Elated with success, he determined on pursuing 
his predatory enterprise still farther, and with 
this view came to anchor with his fleet at the 
Cumbras, whence he sent a detachment up the 
Clyde, which plundered the islands in Loch 
Lomond, at that time very populous. But 
before he had sufficient time to carry his other 
plans into effect, a storm arose in which several 
of his ships were driven on shore near Largs, 
where the Scotch army had collected, and was 
watching his motions. Those vessels which ran 
aground were immediately attacked by the 
Scots, and obstinately defended by the Norwe- 
gians, who being successively reinfoi-ced from 
their fleet, remained onshore all night; next 
morning (2d October) Haco landed with a nume- 
rous body of troops, — was again attacked by the 
Scots, and, after a desperate conflict, finally 
routed and driven to his ships, with the loss of 
sixteen thousand men, according to Buchanan 
and other Scotch writers, but of only about six 
hundred according to an ancient manuscript 
account of the expedition in the library of the 
king of Denmark. — That the loss on the part of 
the Norwegians is greatly under-rated in this 
account, is evident from the course which Haco 
found it necessary to follow a few days after the 
battle, for, notwithstanding his having been 
joined by the detachment from Loch Lomond, 
he withdrew with his fleet to Arran, which with 
the other islands that he had pillaged, he shortly- 
after abandoned.] 

Stately stept he east the wa', 

And stately stept he west; 
Full seventy yiers he now had sene, 

With skerss seven yiers of rest. 

He livit quhen Britons breach of faitf * 
Wrought Scotland meikle wae ; 

And ay his sword tauld, to their ct •■;:, 
He was their deadly fae. 






k^v 






206 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






Hie on a hill his castle stude, 
With halls and towirs a-hicht, 

And guidly chambers fair to see, 
Quhair he lodgit mony a knicht. 

His dame sae pierless anes and fair, 

For chast and bewtie deimt, 
Nae marrow had in all the land, 

Saif Elenor the quene. 

Full thirtein sons to him scho hare, 

All men of valour stout, 
In bluidy ficht, with sword in hand, 

Nyne lost their lives hot doubt ; 

Four yit remain, lang may they live 

To stand by liege and land; 
Hie was their fame, hie was their micht, 

And hie was their command. 

Great luve they bare to Fairly fair, 

Their sister saft and deir ; 
Her girdle shaw'd her middle jimp, 

And gowden glist her hair. 

Quhat waefou wae her bewtie bred ! 

Waefou to young and auld ; 
Waefou, I trou, to kyth and kin, 

As story ever tauld, 

The king of Norse, in summer tyde, 
Puft up with powir and micht, 

Landed in fair Scotland the yle 
With mony a hardy knicht. 

The tydings to our gude Scots king 

Came as he sat at dyne, 
With noble chiefs in braif aray, 

Drinking the blude-reid wyne. 

" To horse, to horse, my royal liege, 
Your faes stand on the strand ; 

Full twenty thousand glittering spears 
The king of Norse commands." 

" Bring me my steed, Mage, dapple gray,' 
Our gude king raise and cryd; 

A trustier beast in all the land, 
A Scots king never seyd. 

" Go, little page, tell Hardyknute, 

That lives on hill so hie, 
To draw his sword, the dried of faes, 

And haste and follow me." 



The little page flew swift as dart 

Flung by his master's arm, 
" Cum down, cum down, Lord Hardyknute, 

And red your king frae harm." 

Then reid, reid grew his dark-brown chieks, 

Sae did his dark-brown brow ; 
His luiks grew kene as they were wont 

In dangers great to do. 

He hes tane a horn as grene as grass, 
And gi'en five sounds sae shrill, 

That trees in grene-wood schuke thereat, 
Sae loud rang ilka hill. 

His sons, in manly sport and glie, 
Had past that summer's morn, " 

Quhen low doun in a grassy dale, 
They heard their fatheris horn. 

" That horn," quod they, " neir sounds in 
We haif other sport to byde ; " [peace, 

And sune they heyd them up the hill, 
And sune were at his syde. 

" Late, late yestrene, I weind in peace 

To end my lengthened lyfe, 
My age micht weil excuse my arm 

Frae manly feats of stryfe • 

" But now that Norse dois proudly boast 

Fair Scotland to in thrall, 
Its neir be said of Hardyknute, 

He feired to ficht or fall. 

" Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow, 

Thy arrows schute sae leii, 
That mony a comely countenance 

They've turned to deidly pale. 

" Brade Thomas, tak* ye but your lance, 

Ye neid nae weapons mair, 
Gif ye ficht wi't as ye did anes 

'Gainst Westmoreland's ferss heir. 

" Malcorn, licht of foot as stag 

That runs in forest wyld, 
Get me my thousands thrie of men, 

Well bred to sword and schield : 

" Bring me my horse and harnisine, 

31 y blade of mettal cleir;" 
If faes kend but the hand it bare, 

They sune had fled for feir. 



. 1£J% *^tTZ*\jLKL * 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



207 



* Fareweil, my dame, sae peirless gude,' 

And tuke her by the hand, 
" Fairer to me in age you seim, 

Than maids for bewtie fam'd : 

'* My youngest son sail here remain, 
To guard these stately towirs, 

And shut the silver bolt that keips 
Sae fast your painted bowirs." 

And first seho wet her comely chieks, 
And then hir bodice grene ; 

Her silken cords of twirtle twist 
Weil plett with silver schene ; 



"With him nae pleiding micht prevail ; 

Braif Hardyknute to gain, 
"With fairest words and reason Strang, 

Straif courteously in vain. 

Syne he has gane far hynd attowre 
Lord Chattan's land sae wyde ; 

That lord a worthy wicht was ay, 
Quhen faes his courage seyd : 

Of Pictish race, by mother's syde ; 

Quhen Picts ruled Caledon, 
Lord Chattan claim 'd the princely maid 

Quhen he saift Pictish crown. 



And apron set with mony a dice 

Of neidle-wark sae rare, 
"Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess, 

Saif that of Fairly fair. 

And he has ridden owre muir and moss, 

Owre hills and mony a glen, 
Quhen he cam' to a wounded knicht, 

Making a heavy mane : — 

" Here maun I lye, here maun I die, 

By treachery's false gyles ; 
"Witless I was that eir gaif faith 

To wicked woman's smyles." 

" Sir knicht, gin ye were in my bowir, 

To lean on silken seat, 
My ladyis kyndlie care you'd prove, 

Quha neir kend deidly hate : 

" Hir self wald watch ye all the day, 

Hir maids at deid of nieht ; 
And Fairly fair your heart wald cheir, 

As scho stands in your sicht. 

" A rise, young knicht, and mount your steid, 

Full town's the schynand day; 
Cheis frae my menyie quhom ye pleis, 

To leid ye on the way." 

"With smyless luke, and visage wan, 

The wounded knicht reply'd, 
" Kind chiftain, your intent pursue, 

For here I maun abyde. 

" To me nae after day nor nicht 

Can eir be sweit or fair, 
But sune beneath sum draping trie 

Cauld death sail end my care.' 



Now with his ferss and stalwart train 

He reicht a rysing heicht, 
Quhair, braid encampit on the dale, 

Norse menyie lay in sicht : 

" Yonder, my valiant sons, and feris, 

Our raging re vers wait, 
On the unconquerit Scotish swaird, 

To try with us thair fate. 

" Mak' orisons to Him that saift 

Our sauls upon the rude ;* 
Syne brainy schaw your veins are fill'd 

With Caledonian blude." 

Then furth he drew his trusty glaive, 

Quhyle thousands all around, 
Drawn frae their sheaths glanst in the sun, 

And loud the bougills sound. 

To join his king, adoun the hill 

In haste his march he made, 
Quhyle playand pibrochs minstralls meit 

Afore him stately strade. 

" Thryse welcum, valyiant stoup of weir, 
Thy nation's scheild and pryde, 

Thy king nae reason has to feir, 
Quhen thou art be his syde." 

Quhen bows were bent and darts were 
thrawn, 

For thrang scarce could they flie, 
The darts clove arrows as they met, 

The arrows dart the trie. 



fr Rude — the Cross. 



208 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Lang did they rage, and fecht full ferss, 

With little skaith to man ; 
But bludy, bludy was the field 

Or that lang day was done ! 

The king of Scots that sindle* bruik'd 

The war that lukit lyke play, 
Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow, 

Sen bows seimt but delay. 

Quoth noble Rothsay, " Myne I'll keip, 

I wate its bleid a skore." 
" Haste up my merry men," cry'd the king, 

As he rade on before. 

The king of Norse he socht to find, 
With him to mense the fauchtjf 

But on his forehead there did lieht 
A sharp unsonsie shaft; 

As he his hand put up to find 

The wound, an arrow kene, 
O waefou chance ! there pinn'd his hand 

In midst betwene his een. 

" Revenge ! revenge !" cried Rothsay's heir, 
" Your mail-coat sail nocht byde 

The strength and sharpness of my dart," 
Then sent it through his syde. 

Another arrow weil he mark'd, 

It persit his neck in twa ; 
His hands then quat the silver reins, 

He law as eard aid fa'. 

" Sair bleids my liege ! sair, sair he bleids !" 

Again with micht he drew, 
And gesture dreid, his sturdy bow ; 

Fast the braid arrow flew : 

Wae to the knicht he ettled at ; 

Lament now quene Elgreid ; 
Hie dames to wail your darling's fall, 

His youth and comely meid. 

" Take aff, take aff his costly jupe," $ 

(Of gold weil was it twyn'd, 
Knit like the fowler's net, throuch quhilk 

His steily harnes shynd.) 



" Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bid 

Him 'venge the blude it beirs ; 
Say, if he face my bended bow 

He sure nae weapon feirs." 

Proud Norse with giant body tall, 
Braid shoulder, and arms strong, 

Cry'd, " Quhair is Hardyknute sae fam'd. 
And feird at Britain's throne ? 

" Though Britons tremble at his name, 

I sune sail mak' him wail, 
That eir my sword was made sae sharp, 

Sae saft his coat of mail." 

That brag his stout heart couldna byde, 

It lent him youthfou micht : 
" I'm Hardyknute. This day," he cry'd, 

" To Scotland's king 1 hecht§ 

" To lay thee law as horse's hufe, 

My word I mean to keep." 
Syne with the first strake eir he strak 

He garr'd his body bleid. 

Norse ene lyke gray gosehauk's staird wyld, 
He sicht with shame and spyte ; 

" Disgrac'd is now my far»fam'd arm 
That left thee power to stryke." 

Then gaif his head a blaw sae fell, 

It made him doun to stoup, 
As law as he to ladies usit, 

In courtly gyse to lout. 

Full sune he rais'd his bent body ; 

His bow he marvell'd sair, 
Sen blaws till then on him but darr'd 

As touch of Fairly fair. 

Norse ferlietj| too as sair as he, 

To see his stately luke ; 
Sae sune as eir he strake a fae, 

Sae sune his lyfe he tuke. 

Quhair, lyke a fyre to hether set, 

Bauld Thomas did advance, 
A sturdy fae, with luke enrag'd, 

Up towards him did prance : 



He spur'd his steitl throw thickest ranks 

The hardy youth to quell, 
Quha stude unmuvit at his approach, 

His furie to repell. 

" That schort brown shaft, sae meanly 
trim'd, 

Lukis lyke poor Scotland's geir; 
But dreidfull seinis the rusty poynt !" 

And loud he leuch in jeir. 

" Aft Britons blude has dim'd its shyne, 
This poynt cut short their vaunt ;" 

Syne pierc'd the boisteris bairded cheik, 
Nae tyme he tuke to taunt. 

Schort quhyle he in his sadill swang ; 

His stirrip was nae stay, 
Sae feible hang his unbent knie, 

Sure taken he was fey. 

Swith on the harden'd clay he fell, 
Richt far was heard the thud, 

But Thomas luikt not as he lay 
All waltering in his blude. 

With cairles gesture, mind unmuvit, 

On raid he north the plain, 
He seimt in thrang of fiercest stryfe, 

Quhen winner ay the same. 

Nor yit his heart dames' dimpelit cheik 
Coud meise* saft luve to bruik; 

Till vengeful Ann returned his scorn, 
Then languid grew his luke. 

In thrawis of death, with wallowit cheik, 

All panting on the plain, 
The fainting corps of warriours lay, 
<_^ Neir to aryse again : 

Neir to return to native land ; 

Nae mair with blythsom sounds 
To boist the glories of the day, 

And schaw their shyning wounds. 

On Norway's coast the widowit dame 
May wash the rocks with teirs, 

May lang luke owre the schiples seis 
Befoir hir mate appeirs. 



Ceise, Emma, ceise to hope in vain, 

Thy lord lyis in the clay ; 
The valyiant Scots nae revers tholef 

To carry lyfe away 

There on a lie, quhair stands a cross 

Set up for monument, 
Thousands full fierce, that summer's day, 

FhTd kene waris black intent. 

Let Scots, quhyle Scot3, praise Hardyknute, 
Let Norse the name aye dried ; 

Ay how he faucht, aft how he spaird, 
Sal latest ages reid. 

Full loud and chill blew westlin' wind, 

Sair beat the heavy showir, 
Mirk grew the nicht eir Hardyknute 

Wan neir his stately towir : 

His towir that us'd with torches bleise 

To shyne sae far at nicht, 
Seim'd now as black as mourning weid ; 

Nae marvel sair he sich'd. 

" Thair's nae licht in my lady's bowir, 

Thair's nae licht in my hall ; 
Nae blink shynes round my Fairly fair. 

Nor ward stands on my wall. 

" Quhat bodes it ? Robert, Thomas, say !" 

Nae answer fits their dreid. 
" Stand back my sons, I'll be your gyde ; " 

But by they past with speid. 

" As fast I've sped owre Scotland's faes" — 

There ceist his brag of weir, 
Sair schamit to mynd ocht but his dame, 

And maiden Fairly fair. 

Black feir he felt, but quhat to feir, 

He wist not yit with dreid : 
Sair schuke his body, sair his limbs, 

And all the warrior fled. 




®jfo* Mud ®C 2RBj!)a*ton ant 



\3< 






&2> 



[From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. — 
"Duels," says Sir "Walter Scott, "are derived 
from the times of chivalry. They succeeded to 
the combat at outrance, about the end of the six- 
teenth century ; and, though they were no longer 
countenanced by the laws, nor considered a 
solemn appeal to the Deity, nor honoured by the 
presence of applauding monarchs and multi- 
tudes, yet they were authorised by the manners 
of the age, and by the applause of the fair.* 
They long continued, they even yet continue, to 
be appealed to, as the test of truth ; since, by 
the code of honour, every gentleman is still 
bound to repel a charge of falsehood with the 
point of his sword, and at the peril of his life. 
This peculiarity of manners, which would have 
surprised an ancient Roman, is obviously de- 
duced from the G-othic ordeal of trial by combat. 
Nevertheless, the custom of duelling was consi- 
dered, at its first introduction, as an innovation 
upon the law of arms ; and a book, in two huge 
volumes, entituled, Le vrai Theatre d' Honneur 
et de la Chivalerie, was written by a French 
nobleman, to support the venerable institutions 



* "All things being ready for the ball, and every one 
being iu their place, and 1 myself being next to the 
queen (of France) expecting when the dancers would 
coine in, one knockt at the door somewhat louder than 
became, as I thought, a very civil person. When he 
came in, I remember there was a sudden whisper 
among the ladies, saying, 'C'est Monsieur Balagny,' 
or, 'tis Monsieur Balagny; whereupon, also, 1 saw 
the ladies and gentlewomen, one after another, invite 
him to sit near them ; and, which is more, when one 
lady had his company a while, another would say, 'you 
have enjoyed him long enough ; 1 must have him 
now ;' at which bold civility of theirs, though I were 
astonished, yet it added unto my wonder, that his 
person could not be thought, at most, but ordinary 
handsome : his hair, which was cut very short, half 
grey, his doublet but of sackcloth, cut to his shirt, and 
his breeches only of plain grey cloth. Informing my- 
self of some standers-by who he was, I was told he 
was one of the gallautest men in the world, as having 
killed eight or nine men in single fight: and that, for 
this reason, the ladies made so much of him : it being 
the manner of all French women to cherish gallant 
meu, as thinking they could not make so much of any 
one else, with the safety of their honour. 5 — Life of 
Lord Herbert of Cherbury, p. 70. How near the char- 



of chivalry against this unceremonious mode of 
combat. He has chosen for his frontispiece two 
figures ; the first represents a conquering knight, 
trampling his enemy under foot in the lists, 
crowned by Justice with laurel, and preceded by- 
Fame, sounding his praises. The other figure 
presents a duellist, in his shirt, as was then the 
fashion, (see the following ballad,) with his 
bloody rapier in his hand : the slaughtered com- 
batant is seen in the distance, and the victor is 
pursued by the Furies. Nevertheless, the wise 
will make some scruple, whether, if the warriors 
were to change equipments, they might not also 
exchange their emblematic attendants. The 
modern mode of duel without defensive armour, 
began about the reign of Henry III. of France, 
when the gentlemen of that nation, as we learn 
from Davila, began to lay aside the cumbrous 
lance and cuirass, even in war. The increase of 
danger being supposed to contribute to the in- 
crease of honour, the national ardour of the 
French gallants led them early to distinguish 
themselves by neglect of every thing that could 
contribute to their personal safety. Hence, duels 
began to be fought by the combatants in their . 
shirts, and with the rapier only. To this custom 
contributed also the art of fencing, then culti- 
vated as a new study in Italy and Spain, by 
which the sword became, at once, an offensive 
and defensive weapon. The reader will see the 
new ' science of defence,' as it was called, ridi- 
culed by Shakspeare, in Romeo and Juliet, and 



i 



acter of the duellist, originally, approached to that c 
the knight-errant, appears from a transaction, which 
took place at the siege of Juliers, betwixt this Balagny 
and lord Herbert. As these two noted duellists stood 
together in the trenches, the Frenchman addressed 
lord Herbert: ' Monsieur, on dit que vous etes un des 
plus braves de votre nation, et je suis Balagny : allons 
voir qui fera le mieux.' With these words, Balagny 
jumped over the treuch, and Herbert as speedily fol- 
lowing, both ran sword in hand towards the defences 
of the besieged town, which welcomed their approach 
with a storm of musquetry and artillery. Balagny 
then observed, this was hot service; but Herbert 
swore, he would not turn back first : so the French- 
man was finally fain to set him the example of retreat. 
Notwithstanding the advantage which he had gained 
over Balagny, iu this 'jeopardy of war,' lord Herbert 
seems still to have grudged that gentleman's astonish- 
ing reputation : for he endeavoured to pick a quarrel 
with him, on the romantic score of the worth of their 
mistresses; and, receiving a ludicrous answer, told 
him, with disdain, that he spoke more like a paUiard 
than a cavalier. From such instances, the reader may 
judge, whether the age of chivalry did not endure 
somewhat longer than is generally supposed."— 
, Scott. 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



mj 



by Don Quevedo, in some of his novels. But the 
more ancient customs continued for some time 
to maintain their ground. The sieur Colombiere 
mentions two gentlemen, who fought with equal 
advantage for a whole day, in all the panoply of 
chivalry, and, the next day, had recourse to the 
modern mode of combat. By a still more extra- 
ordinary mixture of ancient and modern fashions, 
two combatants on horseback ran a tilt at each 
other with lances, without any covering but 
their shirts. 

When armour was laid aside, the consequence 
was, that the first duels were very sanguinary, 
terminating frequently in the death of one, and 
sometimes, as in the ballad, of both persons en- 
gaged. Nor was this all : The seconds, who had 
nothing to do with the quarrel, fought stoutly, 
pour se desennuyer, and often sealed with their 
blood their friendship for their principal. A 
desperate combat, fought between Messrs En- 
traguet and Caylus, is said to have been the first 
in which this fashion of promiscuous fight was 
introduced. It proved fatal to two of Henry the 
Third's minions, and extracted from that sor- 
rowing monarch an edict against duelling, which 
was as frequently as fruitlessly renewed by his 
successors. The use of rapier and poniard to- 
gether, * was another cause of the mortal slaugh- 
ter in these duels, which were supposed, in the 
reign of Henry IV., to have cost France at least 
as many of her nobles as had fallen in the civil 
wars. With these double weapons, frequent 
instances occurred, in which a duellist, mortally 
wounded, threw himself within his antagonist's 
guard, and plunged his poniard into his heart. 
Nay, sometimes the sword was altogether aban- 
doned for the more sure and murderous dagger. 
A quarrel having arisen betwixt the vicompte 
d'Allemagne and the sieur de la Roque, the 
former, alleging the youth and dexterity of his 
antagonist, insisted upon fighting the duel in 
their shirts, and with their poniards only; a 
desperate mode of conflict, which proved fatal 
to both. Others refined even upon this horrible 
struggle, by choosing for the scene a small room, 
a large hogshead, or, finally, a hole dug in the 
earth, into which the duellists descended, as into 



* It appears from a line in the black-letter copy of 
the following ballad, that Wharton and Stuart fought 
with rapier and dagger : 



' a certain grave. Must I add, that even women 
caught the phrenzy, and that duels were fought, 
not only by those whose rank and character ren- 
dered it little surprising, but by modest and 
well-born maidens ! — Audiguier Traite de Duel. 
Theatre d'Honneur, vol. i. f 

We learn, from every authority, that duels 
became nearly as common in England, after the 
accession of James VI., as they had ever been in 
France. The point of honour, so fatal to the 
gallants of the age, was no where carried more 
highly than at the court of the pacific Solomon of 
Britain. Instead of the feudal combats, upon 
the Hie-gate of Edinburgh, which had often dis- 
turbed his repose at Holy-rood, his levees, at 
Theobald's, were occupied with listening to the 
detail of more polished, but nut less sanguinary, 
contests. 1 rather suppose, that James never 
was himself disposed to pay particular attention 
to the laws of the duello ; but they were defined 
with a quaintness and pedantry, which, bating 
his dislike to the subject, must have deeply in- 
terested him. The point of honour was a science, 
which a grown gentleman might study under 
suitable professors, as well as dancing, or any 
other modish accomplishment. Nay, it would 
appear, that the ingenuity of the sword-men, (so 
these military casuists were termed) might often 
accommodate a bashful combatant with an hon- 
ourable excuse for declining the combat : 

— Understanri'st thou well nice points of duel ? 
Art born of gentle blood and pure descent? 
Were none of all thy lineage hang'd, or cuckold ? 
Bastard or bastinadoed? Is thy pedigree 
As long, as wide as mine ? For otherwise 
Thou wert most unworthy ; and 'twere loss of honour 
In me to fight. More : I have drawn five teeth— 
If thine stand sound, the terms are much unequal; 
And, by strict laws of duel, I am excused 
To fight on disadvantage. — 

Albumazar, Act IV. Sc. 7. 

In Beaumont and Fletcher's admirable play of 
A King and no King, there is some excellent 
mirth at the expense of the professors of the 
point of honour. 



f This folly ran to such a pitch, that no one was 
thought worthy to be reckoned a gentleman, who had 
not tried his valour in at least one duel ; of which lord 
Herbert gives the following instance : A young gentle- 
man, desiring to marry a nieee of Monsieur Disancoiir, 
ecuyer to the duke de Montmorenci, received this 
answer : " Friend, it is not yet time to marry ; if you 
will be a brave man, you must first kill, in single com- 
bat, two or three men ; then marry, and get two or 
three children ; otherwise the world will neither have 



With that stout Wharton was the first 
Took rapier and poniard there that day. 

Ancient Songs, 1792, p. 204.— Scott. $& gained or lost by you."— Herbert's Life, p. 64.— Scott, 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



r^ 



1 



t ~. 



But, though such shifts might occasionally be 
resorted to by the faint-hearted, yet the fiery 
cavaliers of the English court were but little apt 
to profit by them ; though their vengeance for 
insulted honour sometimes vented itself through 
fouler channels than that of fair combat. It 
happened, for example, that lord Sanquhar, a 
Scottish nobleman, in fencing with a master of 
the noble science of defence, lost his eye by an 
unlucky thrust. The accident was provoking, 
but without remedy; nor did lord Sanquhar 
think of it, unless with regret, until some years 
after, when he chanced to be in the French 
court. Henry the GTreat casually asked him, 
How he lost his eye ? ' By the thrust of a sword,' 
answered lord Sanquhar, not caring to enter into 
particulars. The king, supposing the accident 
the consequence of a duel, immediately inquired, 
' Does the man yet live ?' These few words set 
the blood of the Scottish nobleman on fire ; nor 
did he rest till he had taken the base vengeance 
of assassinating, by hired ruffians, the unfortu- 
nate fencing master. The mutual animosity, 
betwixt the English and Scottish nations, had 
already occasioned much bloodshed among the 
gentry, by single combat, and James now found 
himself under the necessity of making a striking 
example of one of his Scottish nobles, to avoid 
the imputation of the grossest partiality. Lord 
Sanquhar was condemned to be hanged, and 
suffered that ignominious punishment accord- 
ingly. 

By a circuitous route, we are now arrived at 
the subject of our ballad ; for to the tragical duel 
of Stuart and Wharton, and to other instances 
of bloody combats and brawls betwixt the two 
nations, is imputed James's firmness in the case 
of lord Sanquhar. 

' For Ramsay, one of the king's servants, not 
long before Sanquhar's trial, had switched the 
earl of Montgomery, who was the king's first 
favourite, happily because he took it so. Max- 
well, another of them, had bitten Hawley, a 
gentleman of the Temple, by the ear, which en- 
raged the Templars (in those times riotous, 
subject to tumults,) and brought it almost to a 
national quarrel, till the king stept in, and took 
it up himself. The lord Bruce had summoned 
Sir Edward Sackville (afterward earl of Dorset,) 
into Franca, with a fatal compliment to take 
death from his hand. And the much-lamented 
Sir James Stuart, one of the king's blood, and 
Sir George Wharton, the prime branch of that 
noble family, for little worthless punctilios of 



& honour (being intimate friends,) took the field, 
and fell together by each other's hand.'— Wil- 
son's Life of James "VI. p. 60. 

The sufferers in this melancholy affair were 
both men of high birth, the heirs apparent of 
two noble families, and youths of the most pro- 
mising expectation. Sir James Stuart was a 
Knight of the Bath, and eldest son of Walter, 
first lord Blantyre, by Nicolas, daughter of Sir 
James Somervile, of Cambusnethan . Sir George 
Wharton was also a Knight of the Bath, and 
eldest son of Philip, lord Wharton, by Frances, 
daughter of Henry Clifford, earl of Cumberland. 
He married Anne, daughter of the earl of Rut- 
land, but left no issue. 

The circumstances of the quarrel and combat 
are accurately detailed in the ballad, of which 
there exists a black-letter copy in the Pearson 
Collection, now in the library of the late John 
duke of Roxburghe, entitled, '* A Lamentable 
Ballad, of a Combate, lately fought near Lon- 
don, between Sir James Stewarde, and Sir George 
Wharton, knights, who were both slain at that 
time. — ' To the tune of, Down Plumpto-n Park, 
&c.' A copy of this ballad has been published 
in Mr Ritson's Ancient Songs, and, upon com- 
parison, appears very little different from that 
which has been preserved by tradition in Ettrick 
Forest. Two verses have been added, and one 
considerably improved, from Mr Ritson's edition. 
These three stanzas are the fifth and ninth of 
Part First, and the penult verse of Part Second. 
I am thus particular, that the reader may be 
able, if he pleases, to compare the traditional 
ballad with the original edition. It furnishes 
striking evidence, that, 'without characters, 
fame lives long.' The difference, chiefly to be 
remarked betwixt the copies, lies in the dialect, 
and in some modifications applicable to Scot- 
land ; as, using the words ' Our Scottish Knight.' 
The black-letter ballad, in like manner, terms 
Wharton ' Our English Knight.' My corre- 
spondent, James Hogg, adds the following note 
to this ballad : ' I have heard this song sung by 
several old people; but all of them with this 
tradition, that Wharton bribed Stuart's second, 
and actually fought in armour. I acknowledge, 
that, from some dark hints in the son.:, this 
appears not impossible ; but that you may not 
judge too rashly, I must remind you, that the 
old people, inhabiting the head-lands (high 
ground) here-abouts, although possessed of many 
original songs, traditions, and anecdotes, are 
most unreasonably partial when the valour or 



% 




honour of a Scotsman is called in question.' I \ 
retain this note, because it is characteristic ; but 
I agree with my correspondent, there can be no 
foundation for the tradition, except in national 
partiality."* 

Part Fikst. 

It grieveth me to tell you o' 

Near London late what did befall, 

'Tvvixt two young gallant gentlemen ; 
It grieveth me, and ever shall. 

One of them was Sir George Wharton, 
My good lord Wharton's son and heir ; 

The other, James Stuart, a Scottish knight, 
One that a valiant heart did bear. 

When first to court these nobles came, 
One night, a gaming, fell to words ; f 
* And in their fury grew so hot, 

That they did both try their keen swords. 

No manner of treating, nor advice, 

Could hold from striking in that place ; 

For, in the height and heat of blood, 

James struck George Wharton on the face. 



* Since the publication of the first edition of the 
Minstrelsy, I have seen cause to think that this in- 
sinuation was not introduced by Scottish reciters, but 
really founded upon the opinion formed by Stuart's 
friends. Sir James Stuart married the lady Dorothy 
Hastings; and, in a letter from the late venerable 
countess of Moira and Hastings, he is described, from 
family tradition, as the most accomplished person of 
the age he lived in, and, in talents and abilities, almost 
equal to wh;.t is recorded of the admirable Ci-eichton. 
Sir George Wharton is, on the other hand, afiirmed 
to have been a man of a fierce and brutal temper, and 
to have provoked the quarrel, by wanton and intolera- 
ble reflections on the Scottish national character. 
"In the duel," her ladyship concludes, " family tradi- 
tion does not allow Sir James to have been killed 
fairly." From an anecdote respecting Sir George 
Wharton's conduct in a quarrel with the earl of Pem- 
broke, there is room to suppose the imputations on 
his te.-.'p ir were not with >ut foundation. See Lodg-'s 
Illustrations of Euglis'; History, vol. iii. p. 350. Lady 
Moira concludes, mat she had seen a copy of the bal- 
lad different from any one hitherto print el, in which 
the charge of foul play was directly slated against 
Wharton.— Scott. 

t Sir George Wharton was quarrel- ome at cards, a 
temper which he exhib.ted so disagreeably when play- 
ing with the earl of Pembroke, that the earl told him, 
"Sir George, I have loved you long; but, by your 
manner in playing, you lay it upon me either to leave 
to love you. or to leave to play with you; wherefore, 
choosing to love you still, I will never play with you 
any more."— Lodge's Illustrations, vo!. iii. p. 350. — 
Scott, 



" To strike in such unmanly sort '•> 
But, that I take it at thy hands, 

The tongue of man shall ne'er report !" 

" But do thy worst, then," said Sir James, 
" Now do thy worst, appoint a day ! 

There's not a lord in England breathes 
Shall gar me give an inch of way.' 

" Ye brag right weel," George Wharton 
said; 

" Let our brave lords at large alane, 
A nd speak of me, that am thy foe ; 

For you shall find enough o' ane ! 

" I'll alterchange my glove wi" thine ; 

I'll shew it on the bed o' death ; 
I mean the place where we shall fight ; 

There ane or both maun lose life and 
breath !" 

'* We'll meet near Waltham," said Sir*James ; 

* To-morrow, that shall be the day. 
We'll either take a single man, 

And try who bears the bell away." 

Then down together hands they shook, 

Without any envious sign ; 
Then went to Ludgate, where they lay, 

And each man drank his pint of wine. 

No kind of envy could be seen, 

No kind of malice they did betray ; 

But a' was clear and calm as death, 
Whatever in their bosoms lay, 

Till parting time ; and then, indeed, 

They shew'd some rancour in their heart ; 

" Next time we meet," says George Wharton, 
Not half sae soundly we shall part !" 

So they have parted, firmly bent 
Their valiant minds equal to try : 

The second part shall clearly show, 

Both how they meet, and how they dye. 

Part Second. 

George Wharton was the first ae man, 
Came to the appointed place that day, 

Where he espyed our ^cots lord coming, 
As fast as he could post away. 



They met, shook hands ; their eheeke were pale; 
¥ oO Then to George Wharton James did say, 
f j^_ " I dinna like your doublet, George, 
It stands sae weel on you this day. 

" Say, have you got no armour on ? 

Have you no under robe of steel ? 
I never saw an Englishman 

Become his doublet half sae weel." 

i^gpTN " Fy no • fy no !" George Wharton said, 
C<a/ " For that's the thing that mauna be, 
That I should come wi' armour on, 
And you a naked man truly." 



£l 



" Our men shall search our doublets, George, 

And see if one of us do lie ; 
Then will we prove wi' weapons sharp, 

Ourselves true gallants for to be." 

Then they threw off their doublets both, 
And stood up in their sarks o' lawn ; 

" Now take my counsel," said Sir James, 
"Wharton, to thee I'll make it knawn: 

" So as we stand, so will we fight ; 

Thus naked in our sarks," said he; 
" Fy no ! fy no i" George Wharton says ; 

" That is the thing that must not be. 

e< We're neither drinkers, quarrellers, 
Nor men that cares na for oursel ; 

Nor minds na what we'ere gaun about, 
Or if we're gaun to heav'n or hell. 

" Let us to God bequeath our souls, 
Our bodies to the dust and clay !" 

With that he drew his deadly sword, 
The first was drawn on field that day. 

S e'en bouts and turns these heroes had, 
Or e'er a drop o' blood was drawn ; 

Our Scotch lord, wond'ring, quickly cry'd, 
" Stout Wharton! thou still hauds thy awn!' 



The first stroke that George Wharton gae, 
He struck him thro* the shoulder-bane ; 

The neist was thro' the thick o' the thigh ; 
He thought our Scotch lord had been slain. 

" Oh ! ever alack !" George Wharton cry'd, 
" Art thou a living man, tell me ? 

If there's a surgeon living can, 

He's cure thy wounds right speedily." 




" No more of that," James Stuart said ; 

" Speak not of curing wounds to me ! 
For one of us must yield our breath, 

Ere off the field one foot we flee." 

They looked oure their shoulders both. 

To see what company was there : 
They both had grievous marks of death, 

But frae the other nane wad steer. 

George Wharton was the first that fell ; 

Our Scotch lord fell immediately : 
They both did cry to Him above, 

To save their souls, for they boud die. 



[This ballad, which is said by Motherwell to 
>e popular in many parts of Scotland, is given 
rom Mr Jamieson's collection.] 

The young lords o' the north country 

Have all a-wooing gane, 
To win the love of lady Maisry; 

But o' them she would ha'e nane. 

O, thae ha'e sought her, lady Maisry, 

Wi' broaches, and wi' rings ; 
And they ha'e courted her, lady Maisry, 

Wi' a" kin kind of things. 

And they ha'e sought her, lady Maisry, 

Frae father and frae mither ; 
And they ha'e sought her, lady Maisry, 

Frae sister and frae brither. 

And they ha'e follow 'd her, lady Maisry, 
Through chamber, and through ha' ; 

But a' that they could say to her, 
Her answer still was "Na." 

«* 0, haud your tongues, young men," she 
said, 

" And think nae mair on me ; 
For I've gi'en my love to an English lord, 

Sae think nae mair on me." 

Her father's kitchey-boy heard that, 

(An ill death mot he dee !) 
And he is in to her brother, 

As fast as gang could he. 



as 



m 



" O, is my father and my mother weel, 
But, and my brothers three ? 

Crin my sister lady Maisry be weel, 
There's naething can ail me." 

" Your father and your mother Is weel, 
But and your brothers three ; 

Your sister, lady Maisry's weel ; 
Sae big wi' bairn is she." 

" A malison light on the tongue, 

Sic tidings tells to me ! — ■ 
But gin it be a lie you tell, 

You sail be hanged hie." 

He's doen him to his sister's bower, 

Wi' mickle dool and care ; 
And there he saw her, lady Maisry, 

Kembing her yellow hair. 

" O, wha is aueht that bairn," he says, 

" That ye sae big are wi' ? 
And gin ye winna own the truth, 

This moment ye sail dee." 

She's turned her richt and round about, 
And the kembe fell frae her han' ; 

A trembling seized her fair bodie, 
And her rosy cheek grew wan. 

" pardon me, my brother dear, 
And the truth I'll tell to thee ; 

My bairn it is to Lord William, 
And he is betruthed to me." 

" O couldna ye gotten dukes, or lords, 

Intill your ain countrie, 
That ye drew up wi' an English dog, 

To bring this shame on me ? 

' ** But ye maun gi'e up your English lord, 

Whan your young babe is born ; 
For gin ye keep him an hour langer, 
Your life shall be forlorn," 

** I will gi'e up this English lord, 
Till my young babe be born ; 

But the never a day nor hour langer, 
Though my life should be forlorn." 

" whare is a' my merry young men, 

Wham I gi'e meat and fee, 
To pu' the bracken and the thorn, 

To burn this harlot wi' ?" 



' whare will I get a bonnie boy, 

To help me in my need, 
To rin wi' haste to Lord William,, 

And bid him come wi' speed ?" 

out it spak' a bonnie boy, 

Stood by her brother's side ; 
" It's I wad rin your errand, lady, 

O'er a' the warld wide. 

" Aft ha'e I run your errands, lady, 
When blawin' baith wind and weet; 

But now I'll rin your errand, lady, 
With saut tears on my cheek." 

whan he came to broken briggs, 

He bent his bow and swam ; 
And whan he came to the green grass 
growin', 

He slack'd his shoon and ran. 

And whan he came to Lord William's 
yeats, 

He badena to chap or ca' ; 
But set his bent bow to his breast, 

And lightly lap the wa' ; 
And, or the porter was at the yeat, 

The boy was in the ha'. 

" is my biggins broken, boy ? 

Or is my towers won ? 
Or is my lady lighter yet, 

0' a dear daughter or son ?" 

" Your biggin isna broken, sir, 

Nor is your towers won ; 
But the fairest lady in a' the land 

This day for you maun burn." 

" saddle to me the black, the black, 

Or saddle to me the brown ; 
Or saddle to me the swiftest steed 

That ever rade frae a town." 

Or he was near a mile awa', 

She heard his weir-horse sneeze , 

" Mend up the fire, my fause brother, 
It's nae come to my knees." 

0, whan he lighted at the yeat, 

She heard his bridle ring : 
" Mend up the fire, my fause brother; 

It's far yet frae my chin. 




v=5 






" Mend up the fire to me, brother, 

Mend up the fire to me ; 
For I see him comin' hard and fast, 

Will soon men't up for thee. 

" O gin my hands had been loose, Willy, 

Sae hard as they are boun', 
I wadd ha*e turn'd me frae the gleed, 

And casten out your young son." 

" O I'll gar burn for you, Maisry, 
Your father and your mother ; 

And I'll gar burn for you, Maisry, 
Your sister and your brother ; 

" And I'll gar burn for you, Maisry, 

The chief o' a' your kin ; 
And the last bonfire that I come to, 

Mysel' I will cast in." 




[Fkom Jamieson's Collection.—" The hero of 
this tale," says Mr Jamieson, "seems to be the 
celebrated Welsh bard, Glaskirion, or Kirion the 
Sallow, of whom some notice will be found in 
Owen's 'Cambrian Biography.' In Chaucer's 
'House of Fame,' he is classed with Orpheus, 
Arion, and Chiron : — 

« There herde I play on a harpe, 
That sowned both well aud sharpe, 
Hym Orpheus full craftily : 
And on this side fast by 
Sate the harper Orion, 
And Eacides Chirion, 
And the Briton Glaskyrion.' 

The Scottish writers, adapting the name to their 
own meridian, call him Glenkindy, Glenskeenie, 
&c. The copy here given was- taken from 
the recitation of an old woman, by Professor 
Scott of Aberdeen, and has been somewhat im 
proved by a fragment communicated by the Rev. 
William Gray of Lincoln. Still it must be con- 
fessed, that the garb of this ' harper gude, that 
harped to the king,' 9eems very unworthy of 
the rank he once deservedly held. For another 
ballad on this subject, see the ' Reliques of An- 
cient English Poetry,' edit. 4. vol. iii. p. 43."] 



Glenkindie* was ance a harper gude, 

He harped to the king ; 
And Glenkindie was ance the best harper 

That ever harp'd on a string. 

He'd harpit a fish out o' saut water, 

Or water out o' a stane ; 
Or milk out o' a maiden's breast, 

That bairn had never nane. 

He's ta'en his harp intil his hand, 

He harpit and he sang; 
And aye as he harpit to the king, 

To haud him unthought lang. 

" I'll gi'e you a robe, Glenkindie, 

A robe o' the royal pa', 
Gin ye will harp i' the winter's night 

Afore my nobles a'." 

And the king but and his nobles a' 

Sat birling at the wine; 
And he wad ha'e but his ae dochter, 

To wait on them at dine.f 

He's ta'en his harp intill his hand, 

He's harpit them a' asleep, 
Except it was the young countess, 

That love did waukin keep. 

And first he has harpit a grave tuns, 
And syne he has harpit a gay ; 

And mony a sich atween hands 
I wat the lady gae4 



* Glenkindie (qu. Glenkennedy f) is a beauti- 
full valley, watered by the river Don, in the 
neighbourhood of Glenbucket, and belongs to the 
Earl of Fife. — Jamieson. 

f This stanza is found in the opening of 
<: Brown Robin," which commences thus;— 



« She served them but, she served them ben, 

Intill a gown o' green : 
But her e'e was ay on Brown Robin, 

That sioodlow under ihe rain." xc- Jamieson. 

$ The following 6tanza occurs in one of the 
copies of " The Gay Gosshawk :" 



1%kX ■ 

SCOTTISH BALLADS. 




m 






Says, ** Whan day is dawen, and cocks ha'e 
crawen, 

And wappit their wings sae wide, 
It's ye may come to my bower door, 

And streek you by my side. 

" But look that ye tell na Gib your man, 

For naething that ye dee ; 
For, an ye tell him, Gib your man, 

He'll beguile baith you and me." 

He's ta'en his harp intill his hand ; 

He harpit and he sang; 
And he is hame to Gib his man, 

As fast as he could gang. 

'* O mith I tell you, Gib, my man, 

Gin 1 a man had slain ?" 
" O that ye micht, my gude master, 

Although ye had siain ten." 

" Then tak' ye tent now, Gib, my man, 

My bidden for to dee ; 
And, but an ye wauken me in time, 

Ye sail be hangit hie. 

" "Whan day has dawen, and cocks ha'e 
erawn, 

And wappit their wings sae wide, 
I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower, 

And streek me by her side." 



" Gae hame to your bed, my good master ; 

Ye've waukit, I fear, o'er lang ; 
For I'll wauken you in as good time, 

As ony cock i' the land." 

He's ta'en his harp intill his hand, 

He harpit and he sang, 
Until he harpit his master asleep, 

Syne fast awa' did gang. 

And he is till that lady's bower, 

As fast as he could rin ; 
When he cam' till that lady's bower, 

He chappit at the chin. 

" O wha is this," says that lady, 
' : That opens nae and comes in ?" 

" It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love, 
O, open and lat me in I" 



m 



She kent he wa3 nae gentle knicht 

That she had latten in ; 
For neither whan he gaed nor cam", 

Kist he her cheek or chin. 

He neither kist her whan he cam', 
Nor clappit her when he gaed ; 

And in at her bower window, 
The moon shone like the gleed. 

" O, ragged is your hose, Glenkindie, 

And riven is your sheen, 
And reavel'd is your yellow hair 

That I saw late yestreen." 

" The stockings they are Gib my man's, 
They came first to my hand ; 

And this is Gib my man's shoon ; 
At my bed feet they stand. 

I've reavel'd a' my yellow hair 
Coming against the wind." 

He's ta'en the harp intill his hand. 

He harpit and he sang, 
Until he cam' to his master, 

As fast as he could gang. 

" Won up, won up, my good master ; 

I fear ye sleep o'er lang ; 
There's nae a cock in a' the land 

But has wappit his wings and crawn.' 

Glenkindie's tane his harp in hand ; 

He harpit and he sang, 
And he has reach'd the lady's bower, 

Afore that e'er he blan. 

When he cam' to the lady's bower, 

He chappit at the chin ; f 
" O, wha is that at at my bower door, 

That opens na and comes in ?" 
" It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love, 

And in I canna win." 

" Forbid it, forbid it," says that lady,, 
" That ever sic shame betide ; 

That I should first be a wild loon's lass, 
And then a young knight's bride." 

There was nae pity for that lady, 
For she lay cald and dead ; 



£4/ 









/Vy\ 






f " At the chin," sic. — Jamiesan. 



fe2 



But a' was for him Glenkindie, 
In bower he must go mad. 

He'd harpit a fish out o' saut water ; 

The water out o' a stane ; 
The milk out o' a maiden's breast, 

That bairn had never nane. 

He's ta'en his harp intill his hand ; 

Sae sweetly as it rang, 
And wae and weary was to hear 

Glenkindie's dowie sang.* 

But cauld and dead was that lady, 

I^or heeds for a' his maen ; 
An' he wad harpit till domisday, 

She'll never speak again. 

He's ta'en his harp intill his hand ; 

He harpit and he sang ; 
And he is hame to Gib his man 

As fast as he could gang. 

" Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man; 

Till I pay you your fee ; 
Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man ; 

Weel pay it sail ye be I" 

And he has ta'en him, Gib, his man, 

And he has hang'd him hie; 
And he's hangit him o'er his ain yate, 

As high as high could be. 



[Modern Ballad.— By Charles Kirkpatrick 
Sharpe. First published in the Minstrelsy of 
the Scottish Border.—" The tragical event," says 
the editor of that work, " which preceded, or 
perhaps gave rise to, the successful insurrection 
of Robert Bruce, against the tyranny of Edward 
1., is well known. In the year 1304, Bruce ab- 
ruptly left the court of England, and held an 
interview, in the Dominical church of Dumfries, 
with John, surnamed, from the colour of his 



* This stanza has been altered, to introduce a 
little variety, and prevent the monotonous tire- 
someness of repetition. — Jamieaon. 



hair, the Red Cuming, a powerful chieftain, who 
had formerly held the regency of Scotland. It is 
said, by the Scottish historians, that he upbraided 
Cuming with having betrayed to the English 
monarch a scheme, formed betwixt them, for 
asserting the independence of Scotland. The 
English writers maintain, that Bruce proposed 
such a plan to Cuming, which he rejected with 
scorn, as inconsistent with the fealty he had 
sworn to Edward. The dispute, however it be- 
gan, soon waxed high betwixt two fierce and 
independent barons. At length, standing before 
the high altar of the church, Cuming gave Bruce 
the lie, and Bruce retaliated by a stroke of his 
poniard. Full of confusion and remorse, for a 
homicide committed in a sanctuary, the future 
monarch of Scotland rushed out of the church, 
with the bloody poniard in his hand. Kirk- 
patrick and Lindsay, two barons, who faithfully 
adhered to him, were waiting at the gate. To 
their earnest and anxious inquiries into the cause 
of hisemotion, Bruce answered, "I doubt I have 
slain the Red Cuming." — " Doubtest thou ?" 
exclaimed Kirkpatrick, "I make sure!"f Ac- 
cordingly, with Lindsay and a lew followers, he 
rushed into the church, and dispatched the 
wounded Cuming. 

A homicide, in such a place, and such an age, 
could hardly escape embellishment from the fer- 
tile genius of the churchmen, whose interest was 
so closely connected with the inviolability of a 
divine sanctuary. Accordingly Bowmaker in- 
forms us, that the body of the slaughtered baron 
was watched, during the night, by the Domini- 
cans, with the usual rites of the church. But, 
at midnight, the whole assistants fell into a dead 
sleep, with the exception of one aged father, who 
heard, with terror and surprise, a voice, like that 
of a wailing infant, exclaim, " How long, O Lord, 
shall vengeance be deferred ?" it was answered, 
in an awful tone, " Endure with patience, until 
the anniversary of this day shall return for the 
fifty-second time." In the year 1357, fifty-two 
years after Cuming's death, James of Lindsay 
was hospitably feasted in the castle of Caerlaveroc, 
in Dumfries-shire, belonging to Roger Kirk- 
patrick. They were the sons of the murderers 
of the regent. In the dead of night, for some 
unknown cause, Lindsay arose, and poniarded in 



m 






a dagger, distillhig gouts of blood, proper : motto, ■ 
mack sicker."— Scott. 







his bed his unsuspecting host. He then mounted 
his horse to fly ; but guilt and fear had so bewil- 
dered his senses, that, after riding all night, he 
was taken, at break of day, not three miles from 
the castle, and was afterwards executed by order 
of King David II. 

The story of the murder is thus told by the 
prior of Lochlevin : — 






That iik yhere in our kynryk 
Koge was slayne of Kilpatrik 
Be schyr Jaikis the Lyndessay 
I n-til Karlaveroc; and away 
For til have bene with all his mycht 
T^-S Lyndyssay pressyt all a nycht 
Forth on hors Yycht fast rydand. 
Xevyrtheless yhit thai him fand 
Nocht thre myle fra that ilk place; 
There tane and broacht agane he was 
Til Karlaveroc, be thai men 
That frendis war till Xirkpatrik then ; 
Thare was he kepyd rycht straytly. 
His wyf * passyd till the king Dawy, 
And prayid hiin of his realte, 
Of Lauche that scho mycht serwvd be, 
The kvn? Dawy than also fast 
Till Dumfres with hi? curt he past, 
At Lawciie wald. Q ihat was thare mare? 
T-.15 Lyndessay to ueth he gert do thare. 
■\Yictownis Cronykiii, b.viii. c. 44." — Scott.] 



" Now, come to me, my little page, 

Of wit sae wond'rous sly ! 
Ne'er under flower o' youthfu' age, 

Did mair destruction lie. 

" I'll dance and revel wi* the rest, 

Within this castle rare ; 
Tet he shall rue the drearie feast, 

Bot and his lady fair. 

" For ye maun drug Kirkpatrick'3 wine, 

Wi" juice o' poppy flowers ; 
Nae mair he'll see the morning shine 

Frae proud Caerlaveroc's towers. 

" For he has twin'd my love and me, 

The maid of mickle scorn — 
She'll welcome, wi' a tearfu' e'e, 

Her widowhood the morn. 

" And saddle weel my milk-white steed, 

Prepare my harness bright ! 
Giff I can mak' my rival bleed, 

I'll ride awa' this night." 






" Now, haste ye, master, to the ha' ! 

The guests are drinking there ; 
Kirkpatrick's pride sail be but sma', 

For a' his lady fair." 

In came the merry minstrelsy; 

Shrill harps wi' tinkling string, 
And bag-pipes, lilting melody, 

3Iade proud Caerlaveroc ring. 

Taere gallant knight3, and ladies bright, 

Did move to measures fine, 
Like frolic fairies, jimp and light, 

Wha dance in pale moonshine. 

The ladies glided through the ha', 

Wi" footing swift and sure — 
Kirkpatrick's dame outdid them a', 

Whan she stood on the floor. 

And some had tyres of gold sae rare, 
And pendants f eight or nine; 

And she, wi' but her gowden hair, 
Did a' the rest outshine. 

And some, wi' costly diamonds sheen, 
Did warriors' heai ts as»il — 

But she, wi' her twa sparkling een, 
Pierc'd through the thickest mail. 

Kirkpatrick led her by the hand, 
With gay and courteous air: 

No stately castle in the land 
Could shew sae bright a pair. 

he was young— and clear the day 

Of life to youth appears i 
Alas ! how soon his setting ray 

Was dimm'd wi' show'ring tears ! 

Fell Lindsay sieken'd at the sight, 

And sallow grew his cheek ; 
He tried wi' smiles to hide his spite, 

But word he cou'dna speak. 

The gorgeous banquet was brought up, 

On silver and on gold : 
The page chose out a crystal cup, 

The sleepy juice to hold. 






Wi 













I 

fey 



m 






m 



And whan Kirkpatrick eall'd for wine, 
This page the drink wou'd bear ; 

Nor did the knight or dame divine 
Sic black deceit was near. 

Then every lady sung a sang ; 

Some gay — some sad and sweet — 
Like tunefu' birds the woods amang, 

Till a' began to greet. 

E'en cruel Lindsay shed a tear, 

Forletting malice deep — 
As mermaids, wi ; their warbles clear, 

Can sing the waves to sleep. 

And now to bed they all are dight, 

Now steek they ilka door : 
There's nought but stillness o* the night, 

Whare was sic din before. 

Fell Lindsay puts his harness on, 

His steed doth ready stand ; 
And up the stair-case is he gone, 

Wi' poniard in his hand. 

The sweat did on his forehead break, 

He shook wi' guilty fear ; 
In air he heard a joyfu' shriek — 

Red Cumin's ghaist was near. 

Now to the chamber doth he creep — 

A lamp, of glimmering ray, 
Show'd young Kirkpatrick fast asleep, 

In arms of lady gay. 

He lay wi' bare unguarded breast, 

By sleepy juice beguil'd; 
And sometimes sigh'd, by dreams opprest, 

And sometimes sweetly smiled. 

Unclosed her mouth o' rosy hue, 

Whence issued fragrant air, 
That gently, in soft motion, blew 

Stray ringlets o' her hair. 

" Sleep on, sleep on, ye luvers dear ! 

The dame may wake to weep — 
But that day's sun maun shine fou clear, 

That spills this warrior's sleep." 

He louted down— her lips he prest— 

O ! kiss, foreboding woe ! 
Then struck on young Kirkpatrick's breast 

A deep and deadly blow. 



Sair, s&ir, and meikle, did he bleed : 

His lady slept till day, 
But dream't the Firth - flow'd o'er her head, 

In bride-bed as she lay. 

The murderer hasted down the stair, 

And back'd his courser fleet : 
Then did the thunder 'gin to rair, 

Then show'r'd the rain and sleet. 

Ae fire-flaught darted through the rain, 

Whare a' was mirk before, 
And glinted o'er the raging main, 

That shook the sandy shore. 

But mirk and mirker grew the night, 

And heavier beat the rain ; 
And quicker Lindsay urged his flight, 

Some ha' or beild to gain. 

Lang did he ride o'er hill and dale, 

Nor mire nor flood he feai 'd ; 
I trow his courage 'gan to fail 

When morning light appear 'd. 

For having hied, the live-lang night, 
Through hail and heavy showers, 

He fand himsel', at peep o' light, 
Hard by Caerlaveroc's towers. 

The castle bell was ringing out, 

The ha' was all asteer ; 
And mony a scriech and waefu' shout 

Appall'd the murderer's ear. 

Now they ha'e bound this traitor Strang, 

Wi* curses and wi' blows, 
And high in air they did him hang, 

To feed the carrion crows. 

'* To sweet Lincluden's f haly cells 

Fou dowie I'll repair ; 
There peace wi' gentle patience dwells, 

Nae deadly feuds are there. 

" In tears I'll wither ilka charm, 

Like draps o' balefu' yew ; 
And wail the beauty that cou'd harm 

A knight, sae brave and true." 



W3 



C&W 



* Caerlaverock stands near Solway Firth. 
f Lincluden Abbey is situated near Dumfries, 
on the banks of the river Cluden. It was founded 



®?e Jtbm$£ 51 



[From Buchan's Collection.— Eight lines of 
this are to be found in Herd's Collection.] 

A fair maid sat in her bower door, 

Wringing her lily hands ; 
And by it came a sprightly youth, 

Fast tripping o'er the strands. 

" Where gang ye, young John," she says, 

" Sae early in the day ? 
It gars me think, by your fast trip, 

Your journey's far away." 

He turn'd about wi* surly look, 
And said, " What's that to thee ? 

I'm gaen to see a lovely maid, 
Mair fairer far than ye.'- 

" Now ha'e ye play'd me this, fause love, 

In simmer, 'mid the flowers ? 
1 sail repay ye back again, 

In winter, 'mid the showers. 

" But again, dear love, and again, dear love, 

Will ye not turn again ? 
For as ye look to ither women, 

Shall I to ither men." 

" Make your choose o' whom you please, 

For I my choice will have ; 
I've chosen a maid mair fair than thee, 

I never will deceive." 

But she's kilt up her claithing fine, 

And after him gaed she ; 
But aye he said, " Ye'll turn back, 

Nae farder gang wi' me." 

" But again, dear love, and again, dear love, 

Will ye never love me again ? 
Alas ! for loving you sae well, 

And you, nae me again." 



and filled with Benedictine nuns, in the time of 
Malcolm IV., by Uthred, father to Roland, lord 
of Galloway — these were expelled by Archibald 
the Grim, earl of Douglas. — Vide Pennant. — 
Scott. 




The first an' town that they came till, 
He bought her brooch and ring; 

But aye he bade her turn again, 
And gang nae farder wi' him. 

" But again, dear love, and again, dear lovt, 

Will ye never love me again ? 
Alas ! for loving you sae well, 

And you, nae me again." 



The neist an' town that they came till, 

t His heart it grew mair fain ; 
And he was deep in love wi' her, 
As she was ower again. 

The neist an' town that they came till. 
He bought her wedding gown ; 

And made her lady o' ha's and bowers, 
In bonnie Berwick town. 






[From Mr Buchan's Collection.] 

There was a maid richly array'd, 
In robes were rare to see ; 

For seven years and something mair, 
She serv'd a gay ladie. 

But being fond o' a higher place, 
In service she thought lang ; 

She took her mantle her about, 
Her coffer by the band. 

And as she walk'd by the shore side, 
As blythe's a bird on tree ; 

Yet still she gaz'd her round about, 
To see what she could see. 

At last she spied a little castle, 
That stood near by the sea ; 

She spied it far, and drew it near, 
To that castle went she. 

And when she came to that castle, 

She tirled at the pin ; 
And ready stood a little wee boy, 

To lat this fair maid in. 









ft.) 
\i9k 




" who's the owner of this place, 

porter boy tell me ?" 

' ' This place belongs unto a queen 
0-" birth and high degree." 

She put her hand in her pocket, 
And ga'e him shillings three ; 

" O porter bear my message well, 
Unto the queen frae me." 

The porter's gane before the queen, 

Fell low down on his knee ; 
" Win up, win up, my porter boy, 

What makes this courtesie ?" 

" I ha'e been porter at your yetts, 
My dame, these years full three ; 

But see a ladie at your yetts, 
The fairest my eyes did see." 

" Cast up my yetts baith wide and braid, 

Lat her come into me ; 
And I'll know by her courtesie, 

Lord's daughter if she be." 

When she came in before the queen, 

Fell low down on her knee ; 
" Service frae you, my dame, the queen, 

1 pray you grant it me." 

" If that service ye now do want, 

What station will ye be ? 
Can ye card wool, or spin, fair maid, 

Or milk the cows to me ?" 

" No, 1 can neither card nor spin, 

JS or cows 1 canno' milk ; 
But sit into a lady's bower, 

And sew the seams o' silk." 

" What is your name, ye comely dame, 

Pray tell this unto me ?" 
" O Blancheflour, that is my name, 

Born in a strange countrie !" 

" O keep ye well frae Jellyflorice, 

My ain dear son is he ; 
When other ladies get a gift, 

O' that ye shall get three." 

It wasna tald into the bower, 
Till it went through the ha', 

That Jellyflorice and Blancheflour 
Were grown ow^r great witha'. 



When the queen's maids their visits paid, 

Upo' the gude Yule day ; 
When other ladies got horse to ride, 

She boud take foot and gae. 

The queen she call'd her stable groom, 

To come to her right soon , 
Says, " Ye'll take out yon wild waith steed 

And bring him to the green. 

" Ye'll take the bridle frae his head, 

The lighters frae his e'en ; 
Ere she ride three times roun' the cross, 

Her weei days will be dune." 

Jellyflorice his true love spy'd, 

As she rade roun' the cross ; 
And thrice he kiss'd her lovely lips, 

And took her frae her horse. 

" Gang to your bower, my lily flower, 

For a' my mother's spite ; 
There's nae other amang her maids, 

In whom I take delight. 

" Ye are my jewel, and only ane, 

Nane's do you injury; 
For ere this day -month come and gang, 

My wedded wife ye'se be I" 






;<r (3/} 



m 



[This very singular old ballad is here given 
in a complete form from Mr Buchan's Collec- 
tion. Fragments of it are to be found in the 
Border Minstrelsy and Motherwell's Collection, 
under the name of the Demon Lover.J 

" O are ye my father, or are ye my mother ? 

Or are ye my brother John ? 
Or are ye James Herries, my first true love, 

Come back to Scotland again ?" 

"I am not your father, I am not your 
mother, 
Nor am I your brother John ; 
But I'm James Herries, your first true 
love, 
Come back to Scotland again." 




S-'^M 




WS^^^^S^^^^&M 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






\£m 



" Awa', awa', ye former lovers, 

Had far awa' frae me ; 
For now I am another man's wife, 

Ye'll ne'er see joy o' me." 

" Had I kent that ere I came here, 

I ne'er had come to thee ; 
For I might ha'e married the king's daugh- 

Sae fain she would had me. [ter, 

" I despised the crown o' gold, 

The yellow silk also ; 
And I am come to my true love, 

But with me she'll not go." 

" My husband he is a carpenter, 

Makes his bread on dry land, 
And I ha'e born him a young son,— 

Wi' you I will not gang." 

" You must forsake your dear husband, 

Your little young son also, 
Wi' me to sail the raging seas, 

Where the stormy winds do blow." 



" O what ha'e you to keep me wi', 

If I should with you go ? 
If I'd forsake my dear husband, 

My little young son also ?" 

" See ye not yon seven pretty ships, 
The eighth brought me to land ; 

With merchandize and mariners, 
And wealth in every hand ?" 

She turn'd her round upon the shore, ' 

Her love's ships to behold ; 
Their topmasts and their mainyards 

Were cover'd o'er wi' gold. 

Then she's gane to her little young son, 
And kiss'd him cheek and chin ; 

Sae lias she to her sleeping husband, 
And dune the same to him. 

" O sleep ye, wake ye, my husband, 

I wish ye wake in time ; 
I wouldna for ten thousand pounds, 

This night ye knew my mind." 

She's drawn the slippers on her feet, 

Were cover'd o'er wi' gold ; 
Well lined within wi' velvet fine, 

To had her frae the cold. 




She hadna sailed upon the sea 

A league but barely three, 
Till she minded on her dear husband, 

Her little young son tae. 

" O gin I were at land again, 

At land where I would be, 
The woman ne'er should bear the son 

Should gar me sail the sea." 

" O hold your tongue, my sprightly flower, 

Let a' your mourning be ; 
I'll show you how the lilies grow 

On the banks o' Italy." 

She hadna sailed on the sea 

A day but barely ane, 
Till the thoughts o' grief came in her mind, 

And she lang'd for to be hame. 

" gentle death, come cut my breath, 

1 may be dead ere morn ; 
I may be buried in Scottish ground, 

Where I was bred and born." 

" O hold your tongue, my lily leesome thing, 

Let a* your mourning be ; 
But for a while we'll stay at Rose Isle, 

Then see a far countrie. 



•' Ye'se ne'er be buried in Scottish ground, 

Nor land ye'se nae mair see ; 
I brought you away to punish you, 

For the breaking your vows to me. 

" I said ye should see the lilies grow, 

On the banks o' Italy ; 
But I'll let you see the fishes swim, 

In the bottom o' the sea." 

He reach'd his hand to the topmast, 

Made a' the sails gae down ; 
And in the twinkling o* an e'e, 

Baith ship and crew did drown. 

The fatal flight o' this wretched maid 

Did reach her ain countrie ; 
Her husband then distracted ran, 

And this lament made he : — 



" O wae be to the ship, the ship, 
And wae be to the sea, 

And wae be to the mariners, 
Took Jeanie Douglas frae me ! 



■■■■-■ 7 ■-. 






1 




' f bonnie, bonnie was ray love, 

A pleasure to behold 
The very hair o' my love's head, 

Was like the threads o' gold. 

** O bonnie was her cheek, her cheek, 
And bonnie was her chin; 

And bonnie was the bride she was, 
The day she was made mine i" 



[This beautiful ballad is one of Sir Walter 
Scott's early productions. It appears in the 
Border Minstrelsy, addressed to the Right Hon. 
Lady Anne Hamilton. — " The ruins of Cadyow, 
or Cadzow Castle," says the author, " the ancient 
baronial residence of the family of Hamilton, are 
situated upon the precipitous banks of the river 
Evan, about two miles above its junction with 
the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conclusion 
of the civil wars, during the reign of the unfor- 
tunate Mary, to whose cause the house of Hamil- 
ton devoted themselves with a generous zeal, 
which occasioned their temporary obscurity, and, 
very nearly, their total ruin. The situation of 
the ruins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy 
and creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawl- 
ing torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. 
In the immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove 
of immense oaks, the remains of the Caledonian 
Forest, which anciently extended through the 
south of Scotland, from the eastern to the At- 
lantic Ocean. Some of these trees measure 
twenty five feet, and upwards, in circumference ; 
and the state of decay, in which they now appear, 
shows, that they may have witnessed the rites of 
the Druids. The whole scenery is included in 
the magnificent and extensive park of the duke 
of Hamilton. There was long preserved in this 
forest the breed of the Scottish wild cattle, until 
their ferocity occasioned their being extirpated, 
about forty years ago. Their appearance was 
beautiful, being milk-white, with black muzzles, 
horns, and hoofs. The bulls are described by 
ancient authors as having white manes ; but 
those of latter days had lost that peculiarity, 
perhaps by intermixture with the tame breed.* 



* They were formerly kept in the park at Drunilan- 
ng, and are still to be seen at Chillingham Castle, in 
Northumberland. — Scott. 



In detailing the death of the regent Murray, 
which is made the subject of the following ballad, 
it would be injustice to my reader to use other 
words than those of Dr Robertson, whose account 
of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece 
of historical painting. 

" Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person 
who committed this barbarous action. He had 
been condemned to death soon after the battle 
of Langside, as we have already related, and 
owed his life to the regent's clemency. But part 
of his estate had been bestowed upon one of the 
regent's favourites, f who seized his house, and 
turned out his wife, naked, in a cold night, into 
the open fields, where, before next morning, she 
became furiously mad. This injury made a 
deeper impression on him than the benefit he 
had received, and from that moment he vowed 
to be revenged of the regent. Partyrage strength- 
ened and inflamed his private resentment. His 
kinsmen, the Hamiltons, applauded the enter- 
prize. The maxims of that age j ustified the most 
desperate course he could take to obtain ven- 
geance. He followed the regent for some time, 
and watched for an opportunity to strike the 
blow. B e resolved, at last, to wait till his enemy 
sh uld arrive at Linlithgow, through which he 
was to pass, in his way from Stirling to Edin- 
burgh. He took his stand in a wooden gallery,:): 
which had a window towards the street ; spread 
a feather-bed on the floor, to hinder the noise of 
his feet from being heard ; hung up a black-cloth 
behind him, that his shadow might not be ob- 
served from without ; and, after all this prepa- 
ration, calmly expected the regent's approach, 
who had lodged, during the night, in a house 
not far distant. Some indistinct information of 
the danger which threatened him had been con- 
veyed to the regent, and he paid so much regard 
to it, that he resolved to return by the same gate 
through which he had entered, and to fetch a 
compass round the town. But, as the crowd 
about the gate was great, and he himself unac- 
quainted with fear, he proceeded directly along 
the street; and the throng of people obliging 

f This was Sir James Ballenden, lord justice-clerk, 
whose shameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned the 
Catastrophe in the text«— Spottiswoode.— Scott. 

% This projecting gallery is still shown. The house, 
to which it was attached, was the property of the 
archbishop of St Andrews, a natural brother to the 
duke of Chatelherault, and uncle to Bothwellhaugh. 
This, among many other circumstances, seems to 
evince the aid which Bothwellhaugh received from his 
clan in eifecting his purpose. — Scott. 



JSfc 







SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



225 I 



17, 



% 



V*/' 



him to move very slowly, gave the assassin time 
to take so true an aim, that he shot him, with 
a single bullet, through the lower part of his 
belly, and killed the horse of a gentleman who 
rode on his other side. His followers instantly 
endeavoured to break into the house, whence the 
blow had come ; but they found the door strongly 
barricaded, and, before it could be foreed open, 
Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse,* which 
stood ready for him at a back passage, and was 
got far beyond their reach. The regent died the 
same night of his wound.' — History of Scotland, 
book v. 

"Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, 
where he was received in triumph ; for the ashes 
of the houses in Clydesdale, which had been 
burned by Murray's army, were yet smoking ; 
and party prejudice, the habits of the age, and 
the enormity of the provocation, seemed, to his 
kinsmen, to justify his deed. After a short abode 
at Hamilton, this fierce and determined man left 
Scotland, and served in France, under the pa- 
tronage of the family of Guise, to whom he was 
doubtless recommended by having avenged the 
cause of their niece, Queen Mary, upon her un- 
grateful brother. De Thou has recorded, that an 
attempt was made to engage him to assassinate 
G-aspar de Coligni, the famous admiral of France, 
and the buckler of the Huguenot cause. But the 
character of Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He 
was no mercenary trader in blood, and rejected 
the offer with contempt and indignation. He 
had no authority, he said, from Scotland, to 
commit murders in France ; he had avenged his 
own just quarrel, but he would neither, for price 
nor prayer, avenge that of another man.-rfet- 
anus, cap. 46. 

" The regent's death happened 23d January. 
1569. It is applauded or stigmatized, by contem- 
porary historians, according to their religious or 
party prejudices. The triumph of Blackwood is 
unbounded. He not only extols the pious feat of 
Bothwellhaugh, ' who,' he observes, ' satisfied, 
with a single ounce of lead, him, whose sacrile- 
gious avarice had stripped the metropolitan 
church of St Andrews of its covering :' but he 
ascribes it to immediate divine inspiration, and 
the escape of Hamilton to little less than the 
miraculous interference of the Deity.— Jebb, vol. 
ii. p. 263. With equal injustice, it was, by others, 



-*&made the ground of a general national reflection ; 
for, when Mather urged Berney to assassinate 
Burleigh, and quoted the examples of Poltrot 
and Bothwellhaugh, the other conspirator an- 
swered, 'that neyther Poltrot nor Hambleton , 
did attempt their enterpi'yse, without some rea- 1 
son or consideration to lead them to it : as the 
one, by hyre, and promise of preferment or re- 
warde ; the other, upon desperate mind of 
I revenge, for a lytle wrong done unto him, as 
| the report goethe, accordinge to the vyle j 
: trayterous dysposysyon of the hoole natyon of , 
| the -cottes.' " — Murdin's State Papers, vol. L 
I p. 197.] 

When princely Hamilton's abode 
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, 

The song went round, the goblet flowed, 
And revel sped the laughing hours. 

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 
So sweetly rung each vaulted wall, 

And echoed light the dancer's bound, 
As mirth and music cheer'd the hail. 

But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid, 

And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, 
Thrill to the music of the shade, 

Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 

Yet still, of Cadyow's faded.fame, 

You bid me tell a minstrel tale, 
And tune my harp, of Border frame, 

On the wild banks of Evandale, 





For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, 

From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn, 

To draw oblivion's pall aside, 

And mark the long-forgotten urn. 

Then, noble maid ! at thy command, 
Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; 

Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand, 
The past returns — the present flies. — 

Where, with the rock's wood-cover'd side, 
Were blended late the ruins green, 

Rise turrets in fantastic pride, 

And feudal banners flaunt between : 



'Tis night — the shade of keep and spire 
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream, 

And on the wave the warder's fire 
Is chequering the moon-light beam. 

Fades slow their light ; the east is grey ; 

The weary warder leaves his tower ; 
Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds bay. 

And merry hunters quit the bower. 

The draw- bridge falls — they hurry out — 
Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 

As, dashing o'er, the jovial route 

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. 

First of his troop, the chief rode on ; * 
His shouting merry-men throng behind ; 

The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 

From the thick copse the roe-bucks bound, 
The startling red-deer scuds the plain, 

For the hoarse bugle's warrior sound 

Has roused their mountain haunts again. 

Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 

"Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, 

What sullen roar comes down the gale, 
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ? 

Mightiest of all the beasts of ohace, 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race, 

The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. 

Fierce, on the hunters' quiver'd band, 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, 

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, 
And tosses high his mane of snow. 

Aim'd well, the chieftain's lance has flown ; 

Struggling in blood the savage lies ; 
His roar is sunk in hollow groan — 

Sound, merry huntsmen J sound the Pryse ! f 

* The head of the family of Hamilton, at this 
period, was James, earl of Arran, duke of Chatel- 
herault, in France, and first peer of the Scottish 
realm. In 1569, he was appointed by Queen 
Mary her lieutenant-general in Scotland, under 
the singular title of her adopted father.— Scott. 

f Pryse— The note blown at the death of the 
game. — Scott, 



*& *Tis noon — against the knotted oak 
The hunters rest the idle spear ; 
Curls through the trees the slender smoke, 
Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. 

Proudly the chieftain mark'd his clan, 
On greenwood lap all careless thrown, 

Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man, 
That bore the name of Hamilton. 

" Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, 
Still wont our weal and woe to share ? 

Why comes he not our sport to grace ? 
Why shares he not our hunters' fare ?" 

Stern Claud replied, with darkening face, 
(Grey Pasley's haughty lord was he) $ 

"At merry feast, or buxom chase, 
No more the warrior shalt thou see. 

"Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee § 
Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, 

When to his hearths, in social glee, 

The war-worn soldier turn'd him home. 



£ Lord Claud Hamilton, second son of the duke 
of Chatelherault, and commendator of the abbey 
of Paisley, acted a distinguished part during the 
troubles of Queen Mary's reign, and remained 
unalterably attached to the cause of that unfor- 
tunate princess. He led the van of her army at 
the fatal battle of Langside, and was one of the 
commanders at the Paid of Stirling, which had 
so nearly given complete success to the queen's 
faction. He was ancestor of the present marquis 
of Abercorn. — Scott. 

§ This barony, stretching along the banks of 
the Esk, near Auchendinny, belonged to Both- 
wellhaugh, in right of his wife. The ruins of the 
mansion, from whence she was expelled in the 
brutal manner which occasioned her death, are 
still to be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. 
Popular report tenants them with the restless 
ghost of the lady Bothwellhaugh ; whom, how- 
ever, it confounds with lady Anne Bothwell, 
whose Lament is so popular. This spectre is eo 
tenacious of her rights, that, a part of the stones 
of the ancient edifice having been employed in 
building or repairing the present Woodhouselee, 
she has deemed it a part of her privilege to haunt 
that house also ; and, even of very late years, nas 
excited considerable disturbance and terror among 
^K the domestics. This is a more remarkable vindi- 



" There, wan from her maternal throes, 
His Margaret, beautiful and mild, 

Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, 

And peaceful nursed her new-born child. 

** change accurs'd ! past are those days ; 

False Murray's ruthless s toilers came, 
And, for the hearth's domestic blaze, 

Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 

" What sheeted phantom wanders wild, 

"Where mountain Eske through woodland 

Her arms enfold a shadowy child— [flows, 

Oh is it she, the pallid rose ? 

" The wildered traveller sees her glide, 
And hears her feeble voice with awe — 

' Revenge,' she cries, 'on Murray's pride ! 
And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh !' " 

He ceased— and cries of rage and grief 
Burst mingling from the kindred band, 

And half arose the kindling chief, 

And half unsheath'd his Arran brand. 

But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock, 
Rides headlong, with resistless speed, 

Wh' se bloody poniard's frantic stroke 
Drives to the leap his jaded steed ; * 

Whose cheek is pale, whose eye -balls glare, 
As one, some visioned sight that saw, 

Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair ? — 
— 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! 'tis Bothwellhaugh. 

From gory selle, {• and reeling steed, 

Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound, 

And, reeking from the recent deed, 
He dashed his carbine on the ground. 

cation of the right of ghosts, as the present Wood- 
houselee, which gives his title to the honourable 
Alexander Fraser Ty tier, a senator of the college 
of justice, is situated on the slope of the Pentland 
hills, distant at least four miles from her proper 
abode. She always appears in white, and with 
her child in her arms. — Scott. 

* Birrel informs us, that Bothwellhaugh, being 
closely pursued, "after that spur and wand had 
fail'd him, he drew forth his dagger, and strocke 
his horse behind, whilk caused the horse to leap 
a very brode stanke («. e. ditch,) by whilk means 
he escapit, and gat away from all the rest of the 
horses." — Birrel's Diary, p. 18. — Scott. 

\ Selle— Saddle. A word used by Spenser, and 
other ancient authors. — Scott. 



Sternly he spoke—" 'Tis sweet to hear 
In good greenwood the bugle blown, 

But sweeter to Revenge's ear, 
To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 

" Your slaughtered quarry proudly trod, 
At dawning morn, o'er dale and down, 

But prouder base-born Murray rode 
Thro' old Linlithgow s crowded town. 

" From the wild Border's humbled side, 
In haughty triumph, marched he, | 

While Knox relaxed his bigot pride, 

And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see. 

" But can stern Power, with all his vaunt, 
Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare, 

The settled heart of Vengeance daunt, 
Or change the purpose of Despair ? 

" With hackbut bent, § my secret stand, || 
Dark as the purposed deed, I chose, 

And marked, where, mingling in his band, 
Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bows. 

" Dark Morton, girt with many a spear, ^f 
Murder's foul minion, led the van ; 

And clashed their broad-swor.ls in the rear, 
The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan. ** 



$ Murray's death took place shortly after an 
expedition to the borders; which is thus com- 
memorated by the author of his elegy : 

" So having *tabiischt all thins: in this sore, 
To Liddisdaill agane he did re t ott, 
Throw Ewisdail, Eskdail, and all the daills rode he, 
And also lay three nights in Cannabie, 
M'hair na prince lay thir hundred yeiris before. 
Xae thief durst stir, they did hiin leir so sair ; 
And, that thay sidd na mair thair thift allege, 
Threescore and twelf he brocht of them in pledge, 
Syne wardit thame, whilk maid the rest keep ordonr, 
Thanimcht ti.e nucii-bus :.eep kv on the bordour." 
ScotMsh Poems, J6th century, p. 232.— Scott. 

§ Hackbut bent — G-un cock'd. 

|| The carbine, with which the regent was shot, 
is preserved at Hamilton palace. It is a brass I 
piece, of a middling length, very small in the 
bore, and, what is rather extraordinary, appears 
to have been rifled or indented in the barrel. It 
had a match-lock, for which a modern fire-lock 
has been injudiciously substituted. — Scott. 

«[ Of this noted person, it is enough to say, 
that he was active in the murder of David Rizzio, 
and at least privy to that of Darnley. — Scott. 

** This clan of Lennox Highlanders were at- 







cB, 



" Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, * 
Obsequious at their regent's rein, 

And haggard Lindesay's iron eye, 
That saw fair Mary weep in vain, f 

" 'Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove, 
Proud Murray's plumage floated high ; 

tached to the regent Murray. Holinshed, speak- 
ing of the battle of Langsyde, says, " in this 
hatayle the valiancie of an heiland gentleman, 
named Macfarlane, stood the regent's part in 
great steede ; for, in the hottest brunte of the 
tighte, he came up with two hundred of his 
t'riendes and countrymen, and so manfully gave 
in upon the flankes of the queen's people, that 
he was a great cause of the disordering of them. 
This Macfarlane had been lately before, as I have 
heard, condemned to die, for some outrage by 
him committed, and obtayning pardon through 
suyte of the countess of Murray, he recompenced 
that clemencie by this piece of service now at this 
batayle. ' ' Calderwood 's account is less favourable 
to the Macfarlanes. He states that Macfarlane, 
with his highlandmen, fled from the wing where 
they were set. The lord Lindsay, who stood 
nearest to them in the regent's battle, said, ' Let 
them go ! I shall fill their place better :' and so, 
stepping forward, with a company of fresh men, 
charged the enemy, whose spears were now 
spent, with long weapons, so that they were 
driven back by force, being before almost over- 
thrown by the avaunt-guard and harquebusiers, 
and so were turned to flight." — Calderwood's MS. 
apud Keith, p. 480. Melville mentions the flight 
of the vanguard, but states it to have been com- 
manded by Morton, and composed chiefly of 
commoners of the barony of Eenfrew. — Scott. 

* The earl of Gleneairn was a steady adherent 
of the regent. George Douglas of Parkhead was 
a natural brother of the earl of Morton, whose 
horse was killed by the same ball by which Mur- 
ray f?H .—Scott. 

t Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the most 
ferocious and brutal of the regent's faction, and, 
as such, was employed to extort Mary's signature 
to the deed of resignation presented to her in 
Lochlevin castle. He discharged his commission 
with the most savage rigour : and it is even said, 
that when the weeping captive, in the act of 
signing, averted her eyes from the fatal deed, he 
pinched her arm with the grasp of his iron glove. 
—Scott. 




" From the raised vizor's shade, his eye, 
Dark -rolling, glanced the ranks along, 

And his steel truncheon, waved on high, 
Seem'd marshalling the iron throng. 

" But yet his sa Iden'd brow confess'd 

A passing shade of doubt and awe ; 
Some fiend was whispering in his breast, 

' Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh !' 

" The death-shot parts— the charger springs — (jZy"\ 

Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! 
And Murray's plumy helmet rings — 

— Rings on the ground, to rise no more. 

XL/ 
" What joy the raptured youth can feel, 

To hear her love the loved one tell, 
Or he, who broaches on his steel 

The wolf, by whom his infant fell ! 

" But dearer, to my injured eye, 

To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 
And mine was ten times trebled joy, 

To hear him groan his felon soul. 



" My Margaret's spectre glided near ; 

With pride her bleeding victim saw ; 
And shrieked in his death-deafen'd ear, 

' Remember injured Bothwellhaugh !' 

" Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! 

Spread to the wind thy bannered tree ! 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow !— 

Murray is fallen, and Scotland free." 

Vaults every warrior to his steed ; 

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim— 
" Murray is fallen, and Scotland freed ! 

Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of flame !' 



*& 



% Not only had the regent notice of the in - 
tended attempt upon his life, but even ot the 
very house from which it was threatened. With 
that infatuation, at which men wonder, after 
such events have happened, he deemed it would 
be a sufficient precaution to ride briskly past the 
dangerous spot. But even this was prevented 
by the crowd : so that Bothwellhaugh had time 
to take a deliberate aim. — Spottisrvoode, p. 233. 
Buchanan. — Scott. 



& 



Kut. see ! the minstrel vision fails— 

The glimmering spears are seen no more ; 

The shouts of war die on the gales, 
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bu^le, pealing high, 

The blackbird whistles down the vale, 

And sunk in ivied ruins lie 

The banner'd towers of Evandale. 

For chiefs, intent on bloody deed, 

And Vengeance, shouting o'er the slain, 

Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed, 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 

And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
The maids, who list the minstrel's tale ; 

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
on the fair banks of Evandale ! 



SfUIKrt Bxofcrort 



[From Buchan's Ballads of the North, Frag- 
ments of this are to be found in some song collec- 
tions, but here we have it complete. — "The ! 
unfortunate hero of this ballad," says Mr Buchan, ; 
" was a factor to the laird of Kinmundy. As i 
the young woman to whom he was to be united I 
in connubial wedlock resided in G-amery, a small ' 
fishing town on the east coast of the Murray \ 
Frith, the marriage was to be solemnized in the ; 
church of that parish, to which he was on his 
way, when overtaken by some of the heavy j 
breakers which overflow a part of the road he | 
had to pass, and dash, with impetuous fury, j 
against the lofty and adamantine rocks with ; 
which it is skirted. The young damsel, in her | 
fifteenth year, also met with a watery grave, 
being the wages of her mother's malison. This • 
ballad will remind the reader of the Drowned 
Lovers, who shared the same fate in the river j 
Clyde."] 

"0 Willie is fair, and "Willie is rare, 

And Willie is wond'rous bonuie ; 
And Willie says he'll marry me, 

Gin ever he marry ony." ^ 




'•' 0, ye'se get James, or ye'se get George, 
Or ye'se get bonnie Johnnie ; 

Ye'se get the flower o' a' my sons, 
Gin ye'll forsake my Willie." 

" O, what care I for James or George, 

Or yet for bonnie Peter ? 
I dinna value their love a leek, 

An' I getna Willie the writer. 

" 0, Willie has a bonnie hand, 

And dear but it is bonnie ; 
He has nae mair for a' his land, 

What wou'd ye do wi' Willie ?" 

"0, Willie has a bonnie face, 
And dear but it is bonnie ; 
But Willie has nae other grace, 
What wou'd ye do wi' Willie ? 

<e Willie's fair, and Willie's rare, 

And Willie's wond'rous bonnie ; 
There's nane wi' him that can compare.. 
I love him best of ony." 

On Wednesday, that fatal day, 
The people were convening ; 

Besides all this, threescore and ten, 
To gang to the bridestool wi' him. 

"Ride on, ride on, my merry men a', 
I've forgot something behind me ; 

I've forgot to get my mother's blessing, 
To gae to the bridestool wi' me." 

" Your Peggy she's but bare fifeteen, 
And ye are scarcely twenty ; 

The water o' Gamery is wide and braid, 
My heavy curse gang wi' thee !" 

Then they rode on, and further on, 
Till they came on to Gamery ; 

The wind was loud, the stream was prow 
And wi' the stream gaed W r illie. 

Then they rode on, and further on, 
Till they came to the kirk o' Gamery ; 

And every one on high horse sat, 
But Willie's horse rade toomly. 

When they were settled at that place, 
The people fell a mourning ; 

And a council held arao' them a', 
But sair, sair wept Kinmundy. 



m&mj&m. 



Then oat it speaks the bride hersel', 

Says, " What means a' this mourning ? 

Where is the man amo' them a', 
That should gi'e me fair wedding ?" 

Then out it speaks his brother John, 
Says, " Meg, I'll tell you plainly, 

The stream was strong, the clerk rade wrong, 
And Willie's drown'd in Gamery." 

She put her hand up to her head, 

Where were the ribbons many ; 
She rave them a', let them down fa', 

And straightway ran to Gamery. 

She sought it up, she sought it down, 

Till she was wet and weary ; 
And in the middle part o' it, 

There she got her deary. 

Then she stroak'd back his yellow hair, 
And kiss'd his mou' sae comely ; 

" My mother's heart's be as wae as thine, 
We'se baith sleep in the water o' Gamery." 



3UtH 



jSamaM 



[The story of this ballad is the same with that 
of " Little Musgrave and Lord Barnard," in Dr 
P^ Percy's Reliques, here altered by reciters to the 
meridian of Angus-shire.] 

" 1 have a tower in Dalisberry, 

Which now is dearly dight, 
And 1 will gi'e it to young Musgrave 

To lodge wi' me a' night." 

" To lodge wi' thee a' night, fair lady, 
Wad breed baith sorrow and strife , 

For I see by the rings on your fingers, 
You're good Lord Barnaby's wife." 

" Lord Barnaby's wife although I be, 

Yet what is that to thee ? 
For we'll beguile him for this ae night — 

He's on to fair Dundee. 



" Come here, come here, my little foot-page, 

This gold I will give to thee, 
If ye will keep thir secrets close 

'Tween young Musgrave and me. 




" But here I have a little penknife, 
Hangs low down by my gare ; 

Gin ye winna keep thir secrets close, 
Ye'll find it wonder sair." 

Then she's ta'en him to her chamber, 
And down in her arms lay he : — 

The boy coost aff his hose and shoon, 
And ran to fair Dundee. 

When he cam' to the wan water, 
He slack'd his bow and swam ; 

And when he cam' to grow-in' grass, 
Set down his feet and ran. 

And when he cam' to fair Dundee, 

Wad neither chap nor ca' j 
But set his brent bow to his breast, 

And merrily jump'd the wa\ 

" O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord, 

Waken, and come away!" 
" What ails, what ails my wee foot-page, 

He cries sae lang ere day. 

" O is my bowers brent, my boy ? 

Or is my castle won ? 
Or has the lady that I lo'e best 

Brought me a daughter or son ?" 

" Your ha's are safe, your bowers are safe, 

And free frae all alarms ; 
But, oh ! the lady that ye lo'e best 

Lies sound in Musgrave's arms." 

" Gae saddle to me the black," he cried, 

" Gae saddle to me the gray ; 
Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed, 

To hie me on my way." — 

" lady, I heard a wee horn toot, 

And it blew wonder clear ; 
And ay the turning o' the note, 

Was ' Barnaby will be here !' 

" I thought I heard a wee horn blaw. 

And it blew loud and high ; 
And ay at ilka turn it said, 

' Away, Musgrave, away !' " 

" Lie still, my dear ; lie still, my dear ; 

Ye keep me frae the cold ; 
For it is but my father's shepherds 

Driving their flocks to the fold." 



Wk 



m. 



Up they lookit, and down they lay, 
And they're fa'en sound asleep ; 

Till up stood good Lord Barnaby, 
Just close at their bed feet. 

" How do you like my bed, Musgrave ? 

And how like ye my sheets ? 
And how like ye my fair lady, 

Lies in your arms and sleeps ?" 

" Weel like I your bed, my lord, 

And weel like I your sheets ; 
But ill like I your fair lady, 

Lies in my arms and sleeps." 

" You got your wale o' se'en sisters, 

And I got mine o* five ; 
Sae tak' ye mine, and l's tak' thine, 

And we nae mair sail strive." 

" O, my woman's the best woman 
That ever brak' world's bread ; 

And your woman's the warst woman 
That ever drew coat o'er head." 

" I ha'e twa swords in ae scabbert, 
They are baith sharp and clear : 

Tak' ye the best, and I the warst, 
And we'll end the matter here. 

" But up, and arm thee, young Musgrave, 

We'll try it nan' to han' ; 
It's ne'er be said o' Lord Barnaby, 

He strack at a naked man." 

The first straik that young Musgrave got, 

It was baith deep and sair ; 
And down he fell at Barnaby's feet, 

And a word spak' never mair. 

" A grave, a grave !" Lord Barnaby cried, 

" A grave to lay them in ; 
My lady shall lie on the sunny side, 

Because of her noble kin." 

But oh, how sorry was that good lord, 

For a' his angry mood, 
Whan he beheld his ain young son 

All welt'ring in his blood I 



[This affecting and highly poetical ballad is 
given in Mr Chambers' Collection, chiefly from 
the recitation of his grandmother, assisted by a 
fragment in the Border Minstrelsy, called " The 
Wife of Usher's Well," and Mr Buchan's ver- 
sion of the ballad.] 

Part First. 

I will sing to you a sang, 
Will grieve your heart full sair ; 

How the Clerk's twa sons o" Owsenford 
Have to learn some unco lear. 

They hadna been in fair Parish,* 

A twelvemonth and a day, 
Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in love, 

Wi' the Mayor's dauchters twae. 

And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote, 

The ladies sewed and sang; 
There was mair mirth in that chamber, 

Than in a' fair Ferrol's land. 

But word's gane to the michty Mayor, 

As he sailed on the sea, 
That the Clerk's twa sons made licht lemans 

O' his fair dauchters twae. 

' If they ha'e wranged my twa dauchters, 

Janet and Marjorie, 
The morn, ere I taste meat or drink, 
Hie hangit they shall be." 

And word's gane to the Clerk himself, 

As he was drinking wine, 
That his twa sons at fair Parish 

Were bound in prison Strang. 

Then up and spak' the Clerk's ladye, 

And she spak' tenderlte : 
" O tak' wi' ye a purse o' gowd, 

Or even tak' ye three ; 
And if ye canna get William, 

Bring Henry hame to me." 



O sweetly sang the nightingale, 

As she sat on the wand ; 
But sair, sair mourned Owsenford, 

As he gaed in the strand. 

When he came to their prison Strang, 

He rade it round about, 
And at a little shot-window, 

His sons were looking out. 




*' lie ye there, my sons," he said, 

" For owsen or for kye ? 
Or what is it that ye lie for, 

Sae sair bound as ye he ?" 

" We lie not here for owsen, father ; 

Nor yet do we for kye ; 
But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love, 

fcae sair bound as we lie. 

Oh, borrow us, borrow us,* father," they 

said, 
" For the luve we bear to thee !" 
" never fear, my pretty sons, 
Weel borrowed ye sail be." 

Then he's gane to the miehty Mayor, 

And he spak' courteouslie ; 
" Will ye grant my twa sons' lives, 

Either for gold or fee ? 
Or will ye be sae gude a man, 

As grant them baith to me ?" 

" I'll no grant ye your twa sons' lives, 

Neither for gold nor fee; 
Nor will I be sae gude a man, 

As gi'e them baith to tbee ; 
But before the morn at twal o'clock, 

Ye'll see them hangit hie!" 

Ben it came the Mayor's dauohters, 

Wi' kirtle coat alone ; 
Their eyes did sparkle like the gold, 

As they tripped on the stone. 

" Will ye gi'e us our loves, father ? 

For gold or yet for fee ? 
Or will ye take our own sweet lives, 

And let our true loves be ? 



He's taen a whip into his hand, 
And lash'd them wond'rous sair: 

" Gae to your bowers, ye vile liminers, 
Ye'se never see them ma^r." 

Then out it speaks auld Owsenford ; 

A sorry man was he : 
" Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs; 

For a' this mamma be." 

Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry : 

"Come here, Janet, to me; 
Will ye gi'e me my faith and troth, 

And love, as I ga'e thee ?" 

" Ye sail ha'e your faith and troth, 

Wi' God's blessing and mine." 
And twenty times she kissed his mouth, 

Her father looking on. 

Then out it speaks him gay William, 

"Come here, sweet Murjorie; 
Will ye gi"e me my faith and troth, 

And love, as 1 ga'e thee ?" 

" Yes, ye sail ha'e your faith and troth, 

Wi' God's blessing and mine." 
And twenty times she kissed his mouth 

Her father looking on. 

" ye'll tak' aff your twa black hats, 

Lay them down on a stone, 
That nane may ken that ye are clerks. 

Till ye are putten doun."f 

The bonnie clerks they died that morn ; 

Their loves died lang ere noon , 
And the waefu' Clerk o' Owsenford 

To his lady has gane hame. 

Part Secokd. 

His lady sat on her castle wa', 

Beholding dale and doun ; 
And there she saw her ain gude lord 

Come walking to the toun. 

" Ye're welcome, ye're welcome, my ain gude 
Ye're welcome hame to me ; [lord, 

But whereaway are my twa sons ? 
Ye suld ha'e brought them wi' ye." 




^xM^^^^cf 



,c O they are putten to a deeper lear, 

And to a higher scule : 
Your ain twa sons will no be hame 

Till the hallow days o' Yule." 

•* O sorrow, sorrow, come mak' my bed ; 

And dule, come, lay me doun ; 
For I will neither eat nor drink, 

Sot set a fit on groun' !" 

The hallow day3 o' Yule were come, 
And the nights were lang and mirk, 

When in and cam' her ain twa sons, 
And their hats made o' the birk. 

It neither grew in syke nor ditch, 

-Xor yet In ony sheuch ; 
But at the gates o' Paradise 

That birk grew fair eneuch. 

" Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine, 

Bring water from the well ; 
For a' my house shall feast this night, 

Since my twa sons are well. 

" O eat and drink, my merry-men a', 

The better shall ye fare ; 
For my twa sons they are come hame 

To me for evermair." 

And she has gane and made their bed, 

She's made it saft and fine ; 
And she's happit them wi' her gay mantil, 

Because they were her ain.* 

But the young cock crew in the merry Lin- 
And the wild fowl chirped for day ; [kum, 

And the aulder to the younger said, 
" Brother, we maun away. 

" The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, 
The channerin worm doth chide ; 

Gin we be missed out o' our place, 
A sair pain we maun bide." 

" Lie still, lie still a little wee while, 

Lie still but if we may ; 
Gin my mother should miss us when she 

She'll gae mad ere it be day." [wakes, 

* Variation in the Border Minstreby : — 
And she has made to them a bed, 

She's made it large and wide ; 
And she's ta'en her mantel her about, 
Sat down at the bed side. 




it's they've ta'en up their mother's mantil, 

And they've hung it on a pin: 
" O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantil, 

Ere ye hap us again." 



[A fragment of this originally appeared in ." 
Johnson's Museum. It is here extended from 
two copies given by Mr Buchan. The subject of 
the ballad will be found in the 5th book of 
Henry the Minstrel's Wallace.] 

Wallace wicht, upon a nicht, 

Cam' riding ower a linn ; 
And he is to his leman's bouir, 

And tirl'd at the pin. 

" sleep ye, or wake ye, lady ?" he cried ; 

" Ye'U rise and let me in." 
" O w ha is this at my bouir door, 

That knocks and knows my name ?" 
" My name is William Wallace ; 

Ye may my errand ken." 

" The truth to you I will rehearse — 

The secret I'll unfauld ; 
Into your enemies' hands, this nicht, 

I fairly ha'e you sauld." 

" If that be true ye tell to me, 

Do ye repent it sair ?" 
" Oh, that I do," she said, " dear Wallace, 

And will do evermair ! 

" The English did surround my house, 

And forcit me theretill ; 
But for your sake, my dear Wallace, 

I could burn on a hill." 

Then he ga'e her a loving kiss; 

The teir drapt frae his e'e ; 
Says, " F a; e ye weel for evermair; 

Your face nae mair I'll see." 

She dress'd him in her ain claithing, 

And frae her house he came ; 
Which made the Englishmen admire 

To see sic a stalwart dame ! 



234 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



W 



3| 



I 



"0^ 



Now Wallace to the Hielands went, 
Where nae meat nor drink had he ; 

Said, " Fa' me life, or fa' me death, 
To some toun I maun drie." 

He steppit ower the river Tay — 
On the North Inch* steppit he ; 

And there he saw a weel-faured May, 
Was washing aneath a tree. 

'* What news, what news, ye weel-faured 
What news ha'e ye to me ? [May ? 

What news, what news, ye weel-faured May, 
VVhat news in the south countrie ?" 

" O see ye, sir, yon hostler-house 

That stands on yonder plain ? 
This very day have landit in it 

Full fifteen Englishmen, 

" In search of Wallace, our champion, 

Intending he should dee !" 
" Then, by my sooth," says Wallace wicht, 

" These Englishmen I'se see. 

" If I had but in my pocket 

The worth of a single pennie, 
I wad gang to the hostler-house, 

These gentlemen to see." 

She put her hand in her pocket, 

And pull'd out half-a-croun, 
Says, " Tak' ye that, ye beltit knicht. 

And pay your lawin doun." 

As he went frae the weel-faured May, 

A beggar bold met he, 
Was cover'd wi' a clouted cloke, 

In his hand a trustie tree. 

" What news, what news, ye silly auld 
man? 

What news ha'e ye to gie ?" 
" No news, no news, ye beltit knicht, 

No news ha'e I to thee, 
But fifteen lords in the hostler-house 

Waiting Wallace for to see." 

" Ye'll lend to me your clouted cloke, 
That kivers ye frae heid to shie ; 

Arid I'll go to the hostler-house, 
To ask for some supplie." 



* A beautiful plain, or common, lying along 
the Tay, near Perth.— Chambers. 



Now he's gane to the West-muir wood, 

And pulled a trustie trie ; 
And then he's on to the hostler gone, 

Asking there for charitie. 

Doun the stair the captain comes, 

The puir man for to see : 
'* If ye be captain as gude as ye look, 

You'll give me some supplie." 

" Where were ye born, ye cruikit carle ? 

Where, and in what countrie ?" 
" In fair Scotland, sir, was I born, 

Cruikit carle as ye ca' me." 

"01 wad give you fifty pounds 

Of gold and white monie ; 
O I wad give you fifty pounds, 

If Wallace ye would let me see." 

" Tell doun your money," quo' the cruikit 
" Tell doun your money good ; [carle, 

I'm sure I have it in my pouir, 
And never had a better bode." 

The money was told upon the table, 

Of silver pounds fiftie : 
" Now here I stand !" quo' the gude Wallace, 

And his cloke frae him gar'd flie. 

He slew the captain where he stood ; 

The rest they did quake and rair : 
He slew the rest around the room ; 

Syne ask'd if there were ony mair. 

" Get up, get up, gudewife," he says, 
" And get me some dinner in haste * 

For it soon will be three lang days time, 
Sin' a bit o' meat 1 did taste !" 

The dinner was na weil readie, 

is or yet on the table set, 
When other fifteen Englishmen 

Were hchtit at the yett. 

" Come out, come out, thou traitor, Wallace ! 

This is the day ye maun dee !" 
" I lippen nae sae little to God," he says, 

" Although I be but ill wordie." 

The gudewife had an auld gudeman ; 

By gude Wallace he stiffly stude, 
Till ten o' the fifteen Englishmen 

Lay before the door in then.' blude. 



The other five he took alive, 

To the greenwood as they ran ; 
And he has hanged them, bot mercie, 

Up hich upon a grain. 

Now he is on to the North Inch gone, 
Where the May was washing tenderlie. 

" Now, by my sooth," said the gude "Wallace, 
" It's been a sair day's wark to me." 

He's put his hand in bis pocket, 
And pulled out twenty pounds ; 

Says, " Tak* ye that, ye weel-faured May, 
For the gude luck o' your half-croun." 

Full five-and-twenty men he slew, 

Five hanged upon a grain ; 
On the morn he sat, wi* his merry-men a', 

In Lochmaben toun at dine. 



THE GUDE WALLACE. 

[This is a modern extension by Mr Jamieson, 
of a fragment given in Johnson's Museum. The 
fragment, along with the melody, was taken 
down by Burns from oral communication, and 
transmitted to the Museum. The heroic Wal- 
lace was doubtless the subject of many ballads 
and songs which have been lost in the lapse of 
ages.J 

The Wallace wicht, wi' his merry men a', 
Frae Striveling is southward gane ; 

And he's got word that the Earl Percy 
Was out wi' sax thousand Englishmen. 

His menyie he's left i' the gude green wood, 
To rest frae the heat by the greenwood tree ; 

His menyie he's left wi' the trusty Graham, 
And he's gane to scout in the south countrie. 

The Wallace out over yon river he lap, 
And fast he hied him over yon lee, 

Till, at a well washin' her claes, 
He was aware of a fair ladie. 

And ay as she wush, she sabbit sair, 

And her cheeks the saut tear ay did weet : 

" What tidins, what tidins, fair ladie ?" he said; 
" Or what ails thee to gar thee greet ? 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" Mair meet it were in princely bower, 
Wi' noblest feres thy youth should won ; 

It rewis my heart, a flower sae meek 
Misaunteris bub should blaw upon ! 

" Thir cheeks should rosy dimples wear, 
Thir een should shine wi' love and glee" — 

" Och lang," the lady sich'd and said, 
" Has joy been strange in this countrie, 

" My father they kilPd, they kill'd my bri 
ther, 

They herryit our fald, and brent oar ha' ; 
Me they've — ochon ! my heart will brak ! — 

My true love to England's reft awa'. 

" Yet hope, gin Wallace had thriven, I had, 

That I my lemman yet mat see, 
Revenge on Cressingham to wrack, 

For a' the wrangs he's gart me dree. 

" But Piercy, wi' the fause earl Warren, 
And Cressingham (ill mat he speed I) 

Are dackerin' wi' sax thousand mair, 
Frae Coupar to Berwick upon Tweed. 

" And down in yon wee ostler house 
Now ligs full fyfteen English Strang, 

And they are seekin' the gude Wallace, 
Its him to tak', and him to hang." 

"There's nought in my purse," quo' gude 
Wallace, 

" Sma' spulyie ha'e they to get frae me ; 
But I will down to yon wee ostler house, 

Thir fyfteen Englishmen to see. 

" I've but this brand; wi' whilk, God will, 
I'll mak' them sic cheer as I dow" — 

" Sae God thee speed," said the ladie fair, 
" And send us ten thousand sic as you '." 

And whan he cam' to yon wee ostler house, 

He bade benedicite be there; 
The gude-wife said, " Ye're welcome, come 

Mair welcome, I wat, nor twa 'r three mair." 

The gude-man syne came in frae the hill, 
A braw fat gimmer upon his back ; 

He ferlied to see that strange menzie, 
Sic cheer and mows at his ingle mak' 





SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Ci 



" Ye 're hamelie fallows, to be sae frem ! 

I brew'd nae browst for kettrin like ye ; 
God send the days puir Scotland has seen, 

And a bitter browst to you 'twill be !" 

" Welcome, auld carl !" said the captain ; 

" Auld cruikit carl, wi' your fat yow ; 
It weel will saur wi' the gude brown yill ; 

And the four spawls o't I wat we's cow." 

" The spawls o' it gin ye should cow, 
111 will I thole to brook the wrang, 

But gin I had ye in gude Brae Murray, 
I'd gar ye sing anither sang. 

" There Eddert's glaive and Eddert's goud 
Ha'e ettled at thirldome in vain ; 

And sair will England some day rue 
The wrang s we've a' frae Eddert ta'en. 

" God red our Wallace wicht frae harm, 
And send our gude earl Robert here ; 

For cowart art and lawless rief, 

We'll soon our score wi' Eddert clear." 

" O whare was ye born, auld cruikit carl ? 

Your leed saurs na o' this countrie" — 
" A true Murray Scott I'm born and bred, 

And an auld cruikit carl just sic as ye 



"I'll gi'e fyfteen shillins to thee, cruikit 
carl, 

For a friend to him ye kythe to me, 
Gin ye'll tak' me to the wicht Wallace ; 

For up-sides wi'm I mean to be." 

" I'm but an auld cruikit carl, God wot, 
Stiff and onfeirie to what I've been ; 

My glaive lang syne was hung o' the knag, 
And three score and five thir haffets ha'e 
seen. 

" But leal my heart beats yet, and warm ; 

Thoch auld onfeirie and lyart I'm now ; 
Were wicht Wallace here, wi : nane but 
mysel', 

For a' Eddert's kingdom I wadna be you!" 

A rung the Wallace had intill his nan', 

A burly kent as well mat be, 
That ance afore redd him frae skaith, 

Whan tellin' his beads by ths greenwood 
tree. 




& He hat the proud captain alang the chaft blade, 
That never a bit o' meal he ate mair ; 
He stickit the laive at the buird whare they sat, 
And he left them a' lyin' sprawlin' there. 

" Sae God me shield," said the gude Wallace, 
'* Though hard bested, I've done wi' thae; 

Sae God me shield," said the gude Wallace, 
" And send me as mony sothroun mae.*' 

Bumbazed the gude-man glowr'd a wee, 
Syne hent the Wallace by the han' ; 

" Its he ! it can be nane but he !" 

The gude-wife on her knees had faun. 

" Hale be your hearts, ye couthie twa, 
I'm he, I'm Wallace, as ye trow ; 

But faut and mister ha'e done mair, 
Not e'er could thae my head to tow. 

" Get up, gude-wife, gin Christ ye luve, 
Some meltith fess to me in haste ; 

For it will soon be three lang days 
Sin' I a bit o' meat did taste." 

I wat the gude-wife wasna sla ; 

But hardly on the buird 'twas set, 
Till ither fyfteen Englishmen 

Were a' lichted about the yett- 

" Come out, come out, thou fause Wallace, 
For weel we wat that here ye be ; 

Come out, come out, thou traitor Wallace ; 
Its o'er late now to flinch or fiee. 

" The tod is ta'en in bis hole, Wallace ; 

This is the day that thou maun die." 
" I lippen na sae little to God," he says, 

" Althoch that I be ill wordie." 

The gudeman lap to his braid claymore, 
That hang on the knag aside the speir ; 

A lance the wife hent down frae the bauk, 
That aft had shane fu' sharp in weir. 

His burly brand the Wallace drew, 
And out he braided at the door ; 

His stalwart back he turn'd to the wa", 
And firmly set his foot before. 

His trusty-true twa-hannit glaive 
Afore him swang he manfullie, 

While anger lucken'd his dark brows, 
And like a wood-wolf glanst his e'e. 



Yb 



^ 



f * Art thou that bousteous bellamy," 
Bowden wi' rage, said the captain ; 

(l That feiloun traitor, that sae feil 
O douchty Englishmen has slain ? 

" Mat God assoile me, but it glads 
My hart this tyde to meet thee sae ! 

My ae brither by the Earn lies dead ; 

But in thy heart's bluid I'll wrack my 
wae." 

" I weird thee, to let me be were best ; 

Nocht do I grein thy bluid t > spill ; 
Fierce as thy brither was, and fell, 

Southron, he was thy brither still ; 

" And Liith were 1," quoth the gude Wal- 
lace, 

Lowtrin' his glaive in mylder rnuid, 
" To skaith the rueful heart that yearns 

But to revenge a brither's bluid. 

" Then force na this hand to wirk thy bale, 
But tak* my rede, and lat me gang." 

" Tyke, by the rude thou 'scapes nat sae !" 
And fierce at him the butler sprang. 

A thud wi' his keen swerd he loot, 
To cleave the Wallace to the chin ; 

But his bonnet, thoch o' the claith without, 
Was o' the trusty steel within. 

" Ya, wilt thou ?" said Wallace, " then tak' 
thee that!" 

And derfly strak a dynt sae dour, 
That through the craig and shouther blade 

At ance the trenchand weapon shure. 



* This stroke of the might Wallace is nothing 
to the following : — " One Sir David de Anand, a 
right valiant knight, chanced to be wounded by 
one of the enemies, by reason whereof he was so 
kindled in wrathful desire to be revenged, that 
with an axe which he had in his hande, he 
raughte his adversarie, that had hurt him, suche 
a blow on the shoulder, that he clove hym togi- 
ther with his horse, and the axe stayed not till 
it light upon the verie harde pavement, so as the 
print of the violente stroke remained to be sene 
along tyme after in one of the stones of the same 
pavement."— Holinshed's History of Scotland, F. 
342, 1. 



Agast the sothroun stood a stound : 

Syne hamphis'd him, pele-mele, ane and a', 

And vapourin' wi' burnist swerds, gan shout, 
" Revenge, revenge ! fy, tak' and sla !" 



The auld gude-man had the auld man's grip, 
Thoch nae sae feirie as he had been ; 

Sae steevely he by the Wallace stood, 

Were few that to meet his glaive mat grein. 



H 



And bauld and bardach the gude-wife 

Sae derf couth wield her gude brown spear ; 

To fecht for her country and gude-man, 
Could Scotswoman ow.n=a woman's fear ? 

The first that strak at the gude Wallace, 
The auld gude-man shure his craig in twa. 

" Weel doon, my fere !" said the Wallace then ; 
" Wi' thee 'twere a shame to tak' to the 



Syne grippit his brand wi' micht and ire, 
And forward throw the press he flang ; 

Sic thuds on ilka side he dealt, 

That down to the dead the frieks he dang. 

Wi' deadly dynts the baldest ten 

O' the sothroun, that the starkest stuid, 

The wicht Wallace and thir trusty twa 
Ha'e laid o' the green dicht in their bluid. 

The tither five to the green-wood ran ; 

On a grain they hav git them but ransoun ; 
And neist day wi' Wallace' merry men a', 

They sat at dine in Lochmaben town. 



© 



C-J 



This sword of the good Sir David seems to 
have been little inferior to the enchanted glaiv- 
mor of Fingal, so famous in the tales of the 
Highlanders, that would by mere dint of its own 
innate virtue, cut through any thing that was 
struck with it, and could not be stopt till it 
came to the ground. This unlucky propensity in 
the sword to go farther than was intended, often 
occasioned sad mistakes and accidents, many of 
which make the ground-work of tales which are 
still repeated by the winter's evening fire-sid* 

Jamie mn. 



[In Johnson's Museum, a fragment of this ballad is given, under the title of " Lord Ronald my 
Son." This fragment was furnished by Burns to that work, along with the air to which it is sung. 
Burns says that the air is a favourite one in Ayrshire, and supposes that it is the original of Looha- 
ber. In the Border Minstrelsy, the following more complete version of the ballad is given under 
the head of !( Lord Randal." Scott says, " The hero is more generally termed Lord Ronald ; but 
I willingly follow the authority of an Ettrick Forest copy for calling him Randal ; because, 
though the circumstances are so very different, I think it nut impossible, that the ballad may have 
originally regarded the death of Thomas Randolph, or Randal, earl of Murray, nephew to Robert 
Bruce, and governor of Scotland. This great warrior died at Musselburgh, 1332, at the moment 
when his services were most necessary to his country, already threatened by an English army. For 
this sole reason, perhaps, our historians obstinately impute his death to poison. See The Bruce, 
book xx. Fordun repeats, and Boece echoes, this story, both of whom charge the murder on Ed- 
ward III. But it is combated successfully by Lord Hailes, in his Remarks on the History of Scot- 
land. The substitution of some venomous reptile for food, or putting it into liquor, was anciently 
supposed to be a common mode of administering poison." He adds, " there is a very similar song, 
which, apparently to excite greater interest in the nursery, the handsome young hunter is ex- 
changed for a little child, poisoned by a false step-mother." The nursery song to which Sir Walter 
refers runs as follows. It is called " The Croodlin' Doo," (Cooing Pigeon.) 



In Buchan's Ballads of the North a rhyme very similar to the above is given under the name of 
" "Willy Doo." The subject of the ballad seems to be universally popular in one shape or other. 
In Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, Mr Jamieson gives the commencement of a Suffolk ver- 
sion: 

" Where have you been to-day, Billy my son ? 

"Where have you been to-day, my only man?" 

" I've been a wooing mother, make my bed soon ; 

For I'm sick at the heart, and fain would he down." 

" What have you ate to day, Billy, my son ? 
What have you ate to-day, my only man?" 
" I've ate an eel -pie, mother, make my bed soon ; 
For I'm sick at the heart, and shall die before noon." 

Mr Jamieson also translates, as follows, a German popular ditty, entitled Grossmutter Schlan- 
genkoechin, i. e. Grandmother Adder-cook. 



m 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



•« Where did she catch the little fishes— Maria," &c. 

" She caught them in the kitchen garden — alas," &c. 

« With what did she catch the little fishes— Maria," &c. 

" She caught them with rods and little sticks — alas," &c. 

" What did she do with the rest of the fishes — Maria," &c. 

" She gave it to her little dark-brown dog— alas," &c. 

" And what became of the dark-brown dog — Maria," &c. 

" It burst into a thousand pieces— a!as," &c. 

" Maria, where shall I make thy bed— Maria, my only child?" 

" In the churchyard shalt thou make my bed — alas, lady mother, < 



m 



" O where ha'e ye been. Lord Eandal, my son ? 

O where ha'e ye been, my handsome young man ?" 

" I ha'e been to the wild wood ; mother, make my bed soon, 

For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down." 



'* Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son ? 
"Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man ?" 
" I din'd wi' my true-love ; mother, make my bed soon, 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie dcvn." 



" What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Eandal, my son ? 
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man ?" 
" I gat eels boil'd in broo' ; mother, make my bed soon, 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down." 

" What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Eandal, my son ? 
What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man ?" 
" O they swell'd and they died ; mother, make my bed soon, 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald he down.-' 



m 



"01 fear ye are poison'd, Lord Eandal, my son ! 
O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man !" 
" O yes! I am poison'd ; mother, make my bed soon, 
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down." 



LORD DONALD. 



[This fuller version of " Lord Eandal" is given in Mr Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, Lon- 
1 don, 1827. It was procured in the North. " It would seem," says Mr Kinloch, " that Lord 
• Donald had been poisoned by eating toads prepared as a dish of fishes. Though the frog is in some 
countries considered a delicacy, the toad has always been viewed as a venomous animal. Might 
not the Scots proverbial phrase, " To gi'e one frogs instead of fish," as meaning to substitute what 
is bad or disagreeable, for expected good, be viewed as allied to the idea of the venomous quality of 
the toad ?" 



S 




" whaee ha'e ye been a' day. Lord Donald, my son 
O whare ha'e ye been a' day, my jollie young man ?" 
" I've been awa' courtin' ; mither, mak' my bed sune, 
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" What wad ye ha'e for your supper, Lord Donald, my son ? 
What wad ye ha'e for your supper, my jollie young man ■"' 
" I've gotten my supper ; mither, mak' my bed sune, 
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." 

" What did ye get for your supper, Lord Donald, my son ? 
What did ye get for your supper, my jollie young man?" 
" A dish of sma' fishes ; mither, mak' my bed sune, 
For I'm sick at the heart, and 1 fain wad lie doun." 

" Whare gat ye the fishes, Lord Donald, my son ? 
Whare gat ye the fishes, my jollie young man ?" 
" In my father's black ditches ; mither, mak' my bed sune, 
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." 

" What like were your fishes, Lord Donald, my son ? 

What like were your fishes, my jollie young man ff 

" Black backs and spreckl'd bellies ; mither, mak' my bed sune ; 

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." 

"01 fear ye are poison 'd, Lord Donald, my son ! 
O I fear ye are poison'd, my jollie young man !" 
" yes ! I am poison'd ; mither, mak' my bed sune, 
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." 



" What will ye leave to your father, Lord Donald, my son ? 
What will ye leave to your father, my jollie young man ?" 
" Baith my houses and land ; mither, mak' my bed sune, 
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." 

" What will ye leave to your brither, Lord Donald, my son ? 
What will ye leave to your brither, my jollie young man ?" 
" My horse and the saddle ; mither, mak' my bed sune, 
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." 

" What will ye leave to your sister, Lord Donald, my son ? 
What will ye leave to your sister, my joilie young man ?" 
'' Baith my gold box and rings ; mither, mak' my bed sune, 
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." 




" What will ye leave to your true-love, Lord Donald, my son + 
What will ye leave to your true-love, my jollie young man ?" 
" The tow and the halter, for to hang on yon tree, 
And lat her hang there for the poysoning o' me." 




• [The ballad generally called " Lammikin" 

was at one time a popular one throughout Scot- 

. land, and a number of different versions of it 

y? exist, in which both the names of the hero and 
the locality celebrated vary. In the versions be- 
fore us, the hero figures under the different 
names of " Lammikin," " Lamkin," " Balcan- 
qual," " Lambert Linkin," and " Bold Rankin," 
while the localities are also changed more or less. 

f\ " Lammikin" is supposed to be an ironical de- 
signation of the blood-thirsty mason. The earliest 
printed copy of the ballad that can be traced is 
that in Herd's collection, 1776; a more complete 
and better copy is given in Jamieson's collection, 

r- 1806 ; another version by Finlay, in 1808 ; and 

another by Motherwell in 1827. All these we 

reprint in the order in which we have specified 

r them, and also add a version derived from oral 

tradition, which has not before been printed.] 



I. 



[Herd's copy, with additional verses by Finlay.] 

Lammikin was as gude a mason 

As ever hewed a stane ; 
He biggit Lord Weire's castle, 

But payment gat he nane. 

" Sen ye winna gi'e me my guerdon, lord, 
Sen ye winna gi'e me my hire, 

This gude castle, sae stately built, 
I sail gar rock wi' fire. 

" Sen ye winna gi'e me my wages, lord, 

Ye sail ha'e cause to rue." 
And syne he brewed a black revenge, 

And syne he vowed a vow. — 

The Lammikin sair wroth, sair wroth, 

Returned again to Downe ; 
But or he gaed, he vow'd and vow'd, 

The castle should sweep the ground. — 

" byde at hame, my gude Lord "Weire, 

I weird ye byde at hame ; 
Gang na to this day's hunting, 

To leave me a' alane. 



" Tae night, yae night, I dreamt this bower fDl 

red red blude was fu' ; 

Gin ye gang to this black hunting, 

1 sail ha'e cause to rue." 



" Wha looks to dreams, my winsome dame ? 

Nae cause ha'e ye to fear;" 
And syne he kindly kissed her cheek, 

And syne the starting tear. — 

Now to the gude green -wood he's gane, /*^M 

She to her painted bower, JLi/ 

But first she closed the windows and door* 
Of the castle, ha', and tower. 

They steeked doors, they steeked yetts, 

Close to the cheek and chin ; « 
They steeked them a' but a wee wicket, 

And Lammikin crap in. 

" Where are the lads o' this castle ?" 

Says the Lammikin ; 
" They are a' wi' Lord Weire, hunting," 

The false nourice did sing. 

" Where are the lasses o' this castle ?" 

Says the Lammikin ; 
" They are a' out at the washing," 

The false nourice did sing. 

" But where's the lady o' this house?" 

Says the Lammikin ; 
" She is in her bower sewing," 

The false nourice did sing. 

" Is this the bairn o' this house ?" 

Says the Lammikin ; 
" The only bairn Lord Weire aughts," 

The false nourice did sing. 

Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe, 

While loud false nourice sings ; 
Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe, 

Till high the red blude springs. 

" Still my bairn, nourice, 

O still him if ye can." 
" He will not still, madam, 

For a' his father's Ian'." 



f Cheek and chin, 
<n fying completely. 



-a proverbial phrase, signi- § 




OS 

1 



S3 

i 



" O, gentle nourice, still my bairn, 

O still him wi' the keys;" 
" He will not still, fair lady, 

Let me do what I please." 

" O still my bairn, kind nourice, 

O still him wi' the ring." 
" He will not still, my lady, 

Let me do any thing." 

" O still my bairn, gude nourice, 

still him wi* the knife." 
" He will not still, dear mistress mine, 

Gin I'd lay down my life." 

" Sweet nourice, loud loud cries my bairn, 

O still him wi' the bell." 
" He will not still, dear lady, 

Till ye cum down yoursel'. 

The first step she stepped, 

She stepped on a stane, 
The next step she stepped, 

She met the Lammikin. 

And when she saw the red red blude, 
A loud skriech skrieched she, — 

" O monster, monster, spare my child, 
Who never skaithed thee ! 

" spare, if in your bluidy breast 
Abides not heart of stane ! 

spare, an' ye sail ha'e o' gold 
That ye can carry hame !" 

" I carena for your gold," he said, 
" 1 carena for your fee, 

1 ha'e been wranged by your lord, 

Black vengeance ye sail drie. 

" Here are nae serfs to guard your ha's, 

Nae trusty spearmen here ; 
In yon green wood they sound the horn, 

And chace the doe and deer. 

" Though merry sounds the gude green-wood 
Wi' huntsmen, hounds, and horn, 

Your lord sail rue ere sets yon sun 
He has done me skaith and scorn." 

" O nourice, wanted ye your meat, 

Or wanted ye your fee, 
Or wanted ye for any thing 

A fair lady could gi'e ?" 



" I wanted for nae meat, ladie, 

I wanted for nae fee ; 
But I wanted for a hantle 

A fair lady could gi'e." 

Then Lammikin drew his red red sword, 

And sharped it on a stane, 
And through and through this fair ladie, 

The cauld cauld steel is gane. 

Nor lang was't after this foul deed, 
Till Lord Weire cumin hame, 

Thocht he saw his sweet bairn's bluid 
Sprinkled on a stane. 

" I wish a' may be weel," he says, 

" Wi' my ladie at hame ; 
For the rings upon my fingers 

Are bursting in twain." 

But mair he look'd, and dule saw he, 

On the door at the trance, 
Spots o' his dear lady's bluid 

Shining like a lance. — 

" There's bluid in my nursery, 

There's bluid in my ha', 
There's bluid in my fair lady's bower, 

An' that's warst of a'." 

O sweet sweet sang the birdie 

Upon the bough sae hie, 
But little cared false norice for that, 

For it was her gallows tree. 

Then out he set, and his braw men 

Kode a' the country roun', 
Ere lang they fand the Lammikin 

Had sheltered near to Downe. 

They carried him a' airts o' wind, 

And mickle pain had he, 
At last before Lord Weire's gate 

They hanged him on the tree. 



[Jamieson's version, who received it from 
Mrs Brown of Falkland.] 

It's Lamkin was a mason good, 

As ever built wi' stane ; 
He built lord Wearie's castle, 
But payment got he nane. 



•' pay me, lord Wearie ; 

Come, pay me my fee." 
" I canna pay you, Lamkin, 

For I maun gang o'er the sea." 

" pay me now, Lord Wearie ; 

Come, pay me out o' hand." 
" I canna pay you, Lamkin, 

Unless I sell my land." 

' ' gin ye winna pay me, 

I here sail mak' a vow, 
Before that ye come hame again, 

Ye sail ha'e cause to rue." 

Lord Wearie got a bonnie ship, 

To sail the saut sea faem ; 
Bade his lady weel the castle keep, 

Ay till he should come hame. 

But the nourice was a fause limmer 

As e'er hung on a tree ; 
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, 

When her lord was o'er the sea. 

She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, 
When the servants were awa' ; 

Loot him in at a little shot window, 
And brought him to the ha'. 

" O whare's a' the men o' this house, 

That ca' me Lamkin .■>" 
" They're at the barnwell thrashing, 

'Twill be lang ere they come in." 

" And whare's the women o' this house, 

That ca' me Lamkin ?" 
" They're at the far well washing ; 

'Twill be lang ere they come in." 

" And whare's the bairns o' this house, 

That ca' me Lamkin?" 
" They're at the school reading ; 

'Twill be night or they come hame." 

" O, whare's the lady o' this house, 

That ca's me Lamkin ?" 
" She's up in her bower sewing, 

But we soon can bring her down." 

Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife, 
That hang down by his gaire, 

And he has gi'en the bonnie babe 
A deep wound and a sair. 



Then Lamkin he rocked, 
And the fause nourice sang, 

Till frae ilkae bore o' the cradle 
The red blood out sprang. 

Then out it spak' the lady 

As she stood on the stair, 
" What ails my bairn, nourice, 

That he's greeting sae sair ? 

" O still my bairn, nourice ; 

O still him wi' the pap!" 
" He winna still, lady, 

For this, nor for that." 

" O, still my bairn, nourice ; 

0, still him wi' the wand 1" 
" He winna still, lady, 

For a' his father's land." 

" O, still my bairn, nourice ; 

O, still him wi' the bell !" 
" He winna still, lady, 

Till ye come down yoursel'." 

0, the firsten step she steppit, 

She steppit on a stane ; 
But the neisten step she steppit, 

She met him, Lamkin. 

" mercy, mercy, Lamkin ! 

Ha'e mercy upon me ! 
Though you've ta'en my young son's life, 

Ye may let mysel' be." 

" 0, sail I kill her nourice ? 

Or sail i lat her be ?" 
" 0, kill her, kill her, Lamkin, 

For she ne'er was good to me." 

" O scour the bason, nourice, 

And mak' it fair and clean, 
For to keep this lady's heart's blood, 

For she's come o' noble kin." 

" There need nae bason, Lamkin, 
Lat it run through the floor ; 

What better is the heart's blood 
O' the rich than o' the poor." 

But ere three months were at an end, 

Lord VVeare came again ; 
But dowie dowie was his heart 

When first he came hame. 







" O, wha's blood is this," he' says, 
" That lies in the chamer ?" 

" It is your lady's heart's blood; 
'Tis as clear as the lamer." 

" And wha's blood is this," he says, 

" That Ues in my ha' ?" 
" It is your young son's heart's blood ; 

'Tis the clearest ava." 

O, sweetly sang the black -bird 

That sat upon the tree ; 
But sairer grat Lamkin, 

When he was condemn'd to die. 

And bonnie sang the mavis 

Out o' the thorny brake ; 
But sairer grat the nourice, 

When she was tied to the stake. 



[Finlay's copy, who gives it from a manu- 
? script written by an old lady.] 

: When Balwearie and his train 

Gaed to hunt the wild boar, 
He gar'd bar up his castle 
Behind and before. 

And he bade his fair lady 

Guard weel her young son, 
For wicked Balcanqual 

Great mischief had done. 

So she closed a' the windows 

Without and within, 
But forgot the wee wicket, 

And Balcanqual crap in. 

Then up spak' fause nourice, 
|F1|J " Haste up to the tower, 

"VV) Somebody knocks at the gate 

Bauldly and dowr." 

^ J Syne Balcanqual he rocked, 
And fause nourice sang, 
Till through a' the cradle 
The baby's blood sprang. 




' O please the bairn, nourice, 
And please him wi' the keys." 

" He'll no be pleased, madam, 
For a' that he sees." 

And Balcanqual ay rocked, 
While fause nourice sang, 

And through a' the cradle 
The baby's blood ran. 

Please the bairn, nourice, 
And please him wi' the knife." 
"He'll no be pleased, madam, 
Though I'd gi'e my life." 

And Balcanqual still rocked, 
And fause nourice sang, 

While through a' the cradle 
The baby's blood ran. 

'* Now please the bairn, nourice, 
And please him wi' the bell." 

" He'll no be pleased, madam, 
Till ye come yoursel'."— 

Down came this fair lady, 
Tripping down the stair, 

To see her sick bairn, 

But returned never mair. — 

" Now scour the bason, Jenny, 
And scour't very clean, 

To haad this lady's blood, 
For she's of noble kin." 

She's lifted her baby, 

And kissed cheek and chin, 
And his ance rosy lips, 

But nae breath was within.— 

" Fare weel, my sweet baby, 

Ye've left me alane ; 
But I see my death coming, 

I needna make mane." 

They've ta'en this fair lady, 
And tied her wi' bands, 

And in her sweet heart's blood 
They've dipped their hands. 

For Balcanqual and nourice 
Had vow'd her to slae, 

Because their ill deeds 
Made Balwearie their fae. 







m 



Balwearie and his train 
Cam' name weary at e'en, 

Nae voice gied them welcome, 
Nae light could be seen. 

" Open, dear lady, 

My castle to me;" 
Nae voice gied an answer, 

Nae voice was to gfe. 



IV. 

[Motherwell's version. — "The present copy," 
says Mr Motherwell, " is given from recitation, 
and though it could have received additions, and 
perhaps improvements, from another copy, ob- 
tained from a similar source, and of equal au- 
thenticity, in his possession, the editor did not 
like to use the liberty which is liable to much 
abuse. To some, the present set of the ballad 
may be valuable, as handing down both name 
and nickname of the revengeful builder of Prime 
Castle; for there can be little doubt that the 
epithet Linkin, Mr Lambert acquired from the 
secrecy and address with which he insinuated 
himself into that notable strength. Indeed all 
the names of Lammerlinkin, Lammikin, Lam- 
kin, Lankin, Linkin, Belinkin, can easily be 
traced out as abbreviations of Lambert Linkin. 
In the present set of the ballad, Lambert Linkin 
and Belinkin are used indifferently, as the mea- 
sure of the verse may require ; in the other re- 
cited copy, to which reference has been made, it 
is Lammerlinkin, and Lamkin ; and the noble- 
man for whom he c built a house,' is stated to 
be ' Lord Arran.' No allusion, however, is made 
here to the name of the owner of Prime Castle. 
Antiquaries, peradventure, may find it as diffi- 
cult to settle the precise locality of this fortalice, 
as they have found it to fix the topography of 
Troy."] 

Belinkin was as gude a mason 

As e'er pickt a stane ; 
He built up Prime Castle, 

But payment gat nane. 

The lord said to his lady, 
When he was going abroad, 

" O beware of Belinkin, 
For he lies in the wood." 



The gates they were bolted 

Baith outside and in; 
And at the sma' peep of a window 

Belinkin crap in. 

" Gude morrow, gude morrow," 

Said Lambert Linkin ; 
" Gude morrow to yoursel', sir," 

Said the fause nurse to him. 

" O whare is your gude lord ?" 

Said Lambert Linkin ; 
" He's awa' to New England, 

To meet with his king." 

" O where is his auld son ?" 

Said Lambert Linkin ; 
" He's awa' to buy pearlings 

Gin our lady ly in." 

" Then she'll never wear them," 

Said Lambert Linkin ; 
" And that is nae pity," 

Said the fause nurse to him. 

" O where is your lady ?" 

Said Lambert Linkin ; 
" She's in her bouir sleepin'," 

Said the fause nurse to him. 

" How can we get at her ?" 

Said Lambert Linkin ; 
" Stab the babe to the heart 

Wi' a silver bo'kin." 

" That wud be a pity," 

Said Lambert Linkin ; 
" Nae pity, nae pity," 

Said the fause nurse to him. 

Belinkin he rocked, 

And the fause nurse she sang, 
Till a' the tores* o' the cradle, 

Wi' the red blude down ran. 



* Tores. — The projections or knobs at the cor- 
ners of old-fashioned cradles, and the ornamen- 
tal balls commonly found surmounting the 
backs of old chairs. Dr Jamieson does not seem 
to have had a precise notion of this word. Vide 
IV. Vol. of his Dictionary, voce Tore. 

Motherwell. 



w 




2i6 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



G* 






w 



m 

M 



" still my babe, nurice, 

still him wi' the knife ;" 
" He'll no be still, lady, 

Though I lay down my life." 

" still my babe, nurice, 

still him wi' the kame; " 
" He'll no be still, lady, 

Till his daddy come hanie." 

" O still my babe, nurice, 

O still him wi' the bell;" 
" He'll no be still, lady, 

Till ye come down yoursel'." 

" Its how can I come doun 

This cauld frosty nicht, 
Without e'er a coal 

Or a clear candle licht ?" 

" There's twa smocks in your coffer. 

As white as a swan, 
Put ane o' them about you, 

It will show you licht doun." 

She took ane o' them about her, 

And came tripping doun ; 
But as soon as she viewed, 

Belinkin was in. 

" Gude morrow, gude morrow," 

Said Lambert Linkin ; 
" Gude morrow to yoursel', sir," 

Said the lady to him. 

" Oh save my life, Belinkin, 

Till my husband come back, 
And I'll gi'e ye as much red gold 

As ye'll haud in your hat." 

' ' I'll no save your life, lady, 
Till your husband come back, 

Tho' you wud gi'e me as much red gold 
As 1 could haud in a sack. 

" Will I kill her?" quo' Belinkin, 
" Will 1 kill her, or let her be ?" 

" You may kill her," said the fause nurse, 
" She was ne'er gude to me; 

And ye'll be laird o' the castle, 
And I'll be ladye." 

Then he cut aff her head 

Frae her lily breast bane, 
And he hung't up in the kitchen, 

It made a' the ha' shine. 



The lord sat in England 
A -drinking the wine : 

" I wish a' may be weel 
Wi' my lady at hame ; 

For the rings o' my fingers 
They're now burst in twain !" 

He saddled his horse, 

And he cam' riding doun ; 

But as soon as he viewed, 
Belinkin was in, 

He hadna weel stepped 
Twa steps up the stair, 

Till he saw his pretty young son 
Lying dead on the floor. 

He hadna weel stepped 
Other twa up the stair, 

Till he saw his pretty lady 
Lying dead in despair. 

He hanged Belinkin 

Out over the gate ; 
And he burnt the fause nurice 

Being under the grate. 



[Fkom a MS. in the possession of W. H. 
Logan, Esq., Edinburgh, derived from oral tra- 
dition.] 

Said the lord to the lady — 

" Beware of Eankin, 
For I'm going to England 

To wait on the king." 

*' No fears, no fears," 

Said the lady, said she, 
" For the doors shall be bolted, 

And the windows pindee. 

" Go bar all the windows 

Both outside and in, 
Don't leave a window open, 

To let bold liankin in." 

She has barred up the windows, 

All outside and in, 
But she left ane of them open 

To let bold Eankin in. 



" Oh! where is the master of this house ?" & 

Said bold Rankin, 
" He's up in old England," 

Said the false nurse to him. 

" Oh ! where is the mistress of this house ?" 

Said bold Rankin, 
" She's up in her chamber sleeping," 

Said the false nurse to him. 

" Oh ! how shall we get her down ?" 

Said bold Rankin, 
" By piercing the baby," 

Said the false nurse to him. 

" Go please the baby, nursey oh ! 

Go please it with a bell ;" 
" It will not be pleased, madam, 

Till ye come down yoursel'." 

" How can I come down stairs, 

So late into the night, 
Without coal and candle 

To show me the light ? 

" There is a silver bolt lies 

On the closet head, 
Give it to the baby, 

Give it sweet milk and bread." 

She rammed the silver bolt 

All up the baby's nose, 
Till the blood it came trickling down 

The baby's fine clothes. 

** Go please the baby, nursey, 

Go please it with the bell." 
It will not please, madam, 

Till you come down yoursel'." 

" It will neither please with breast-milk, 

Nor yet with pap, 
But I pray, loving lady, 

Come and roll it in your lap." 

The first step she stepped, 

She stepped on a stane, 
And the next step she stepped, 

She met bold Rankin. 

" Oh ! Rankin, oh ! Rankin, 

Spare me till twelve o'clock, 
And I will give you as many guineas, 

As you can carry on your back." 



" What eare I for as many guineas 

As seeds into a sack, 
When I cannot keep my hands 

Off your lily-white neck?" 

" Oh ! will I kill her, nursey, 

Or let her abee?" 
" Oh ! kill her," said the false nurse, 

" She was never good to me." 

" Go scour the bason, lady, 

Both outside and in, 
To hold your mother's heart's blood, 

Sprung from a nobler king."* 

" To hold my mother's heart's blood, 
Would make my heart full woe, 

Oh ! rather kill me, Rankin, 
And let my mother go." 

" Go scour the bason, servants, 

Both outside and in ; 
To hold your lady's heart's blood, 

Sprung from a nobler king." 

" To hold my lady's heart's blood, 
Would make my heart full woe, 

Oh ! rather kill me, Rankin, 
And let my lady go." 

" Go scour the bason, nursey, 

Both outside and in, 
To hold your lady's heart's blood, 

Sprung from a nobler king." 

" To hold my lady's heart's blood, 
Would make my heart full glad, 

Ram in the knife, bold Rankin, 
And gar the blood to shed. 

" She's none of my comrades, 

She's none of my kin',f 
Ram in the knife, bold Rankin, 

And gar the bluid rin." 

" Oh ! will I kill her, nursey, 

Or let her abee?" 
" Oh ! kill her," said the false nurse, 

" She was never good to me." 



* Sprung from a noble kin' ? 
f Equivalent to the Nigger adage, 
hard, him got no friends here." 



sis 



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• - ■'■-': . 

5 



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" I wish my wife and family 
May be all well at name ; 

For the silver buttons of my coat 
They will not stay on." 

As Mary was looking 

O'er her window so high, 

She saw her dear father 
Come riding by. 

" Oh ! father, dear father ! 

Don't put the blame on me, 
It was false nurse and Kankin, 

That killed your ladie." 

Oh ! wasn't that an awful sight, 
When he came to the staii", 

To see his fairest lady 
Lie bleeding there ? 

The false nurse was burnt 
On the mountain hill head, 

And Rankin was boiled 
In a pot full of lead. 



[This fragment, with the following note pre- 
fixed to it, was first printed in an Aberdeen 
newspaper about thirty years ago.—" In 1592 the 
Mackintoshes, or clan Chattan, having offended 
Gordon of Huntly and fcitrathbogie, to whom 
they were vassals, the latter vowed vengeance, 
which the former fearing, requested their chief 
to proceed to Auchindoun Castle, the residence 
of their offended superior, and sue for peace. 
On his arrival there, Gordon was unfortunately 
from home : he was however introduced to his 
lady, to whom he told on what errand he had 
come, and pleaded for her intercession ; but she 
told him that she was sure her lord would not be 
satisfied until the head of the chief of the clan 
Chattan was fixed on the castle gate. The chief 
despising her threat, and bowing scornfully low 
before he should depart, she snatched a sword 
from the wall, and severed his head from his 
body. His clan, on hearing of the ' horrid deed,' 
assembled under his son and successor, and 
marched to Auchindoun Castle in the dead of 
night, which they plundered and set on fire. 
The lady made her escape, but several of the si 



inmates perished in the flames. The ruins of 
this baronial residence are still to be seen on the 
banks of the river Fiddach in Bamfshire."] 

" Turn, Willie Mackintosh, 

Turn, turn, I bid you ; 
If you burn Auchindoun, 

Huntly will head you." 

" Head me or hang me, 

That winna fley me, 
I'll burn Auchindoun, 

Ere the life lea' me." 

Coming owre Cairn-croome,* 

And looking down, man; 
I saw Willie Mackintosh 

Burn Auchindoun, man. 

Light was the mirk hour 

At the day dawing, 
For Auchindoun was in flames 

Ere the cock crawing. 



BURNING OF AUCHINDOUN. 

[Modern Version. — Alexander Lains.] 

" Turn again, my gallant chief, 

Turn again, I bid you — 
If you burn Auchindoun, 

The Gordon will behead you." 

" The Gordon may behead me — 

I will think of turning 
When his haughty lady weeps — 

When Auchindoun is burning !" 

The shepherd now had left the hill, 
The stormy wind was howling; 

And on the brow of Cairn-croome, 
The cloud of night was scowling ; 

While on the deep and distant glen, 
The Fiddach, wildly wailing 

Of foes upon its woody banks — 
Of coming wae was telling • 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



249 



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(© 



Anon was seen along the sky 
A beam so bright approaching, 

That on the middle hour of night 
The day-light seem'd encroaching. 

Then faintly on the stormy heath 
Was heard the voice of mourning — ■ 

And then appeared the bursting flames— 
Auchindoun was burning • 






[Modern Ballad. — (See Yignette to the pre- 
sent volume.) — The tradition upon which the 
present ballad is founded is thus narrated by Sir 
Walter Scott in the notes to the Lay of the Last 
Minstrel. — Sir Michael Scott " was chosen, it is 
said, to go upon an embassy, to obtain from the 
king of France satisfaction for certain piracies 
committed by his subjects upon those of Scot- 
land. Instead of preparing a new equipage and 
splendid retinue, the ambassador retreated to 
his study, opened his book, and evoked a fiend in 
the shape of a huge black horse, mounted upon 
his back, and forced him to fly through the air 
towards France. As they crossed the sea, the 
devil insidiously asked his rider, what it was that 
the old women of Scotland muttered at bed-time ? 
A less experienced wizard might have answered, 
that it was the Pater Noster, which would have 
licensed the devil to precipitate him from his 
back. But Michael sternly replied, ' What is 
that to thee ? Mount, Diabolus, and fly !' When 
he arrived at Paris, he tied his horse to the gate 
of the palace, entered, and boldly delivered his 
message. An ambassador, with so little of the 
pomp and circumstance of diplomacy, was not re- 
ceived with much respect; and the king was 
about to return a contemptuous refusal to his 
demand, when Michael besought him to sus- 
pend his resolution till he had seen his horse 
stamp three times. The first stamp shook every 
steeple in Paris, and caused all the bells to ring; 
the second threw down three of the towers of the 
palace ; and the infernal steed had lifted his hoof 
to give the third stamp, when the king rather 
chose to dismiss Michael with the most ample 
concessions, than to stand to the probable con- 
sequences. 



w 



M 



" Sir Michael Scott," according to the same 
high authority, " flourished during the 13th 
century, and was one of the ambassadors sent 
to bring the Maid of Norway to Scotland, upon 
the death of Alexander III. He was a man of 
much learning, chiefly acquired in foreign coun- 
tries. He wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, 
printed at Venice in 1496 ; and several treatises 
upon natural philosophy, from which he appears 
to have been addicted to the abstruse studies of 
judicial astrology, alchymy, physiognomy, and 
chiromancy. Hence he passed among his con- 
temporaries for a skilful magician. Dempster 
informs us, that he remembers to have heard in 
his youth, that the magic books of Michael Scott 
were still in existence, but could not be opened 
without danger, on account of the fiends who 
were thereby invoked.— Dempsteri Historia Ec- 
clesiastica, 1627, lib. xii. p. 495. Lesly charac- 
terises Michael Scott as ' singulari philosophiae, 
astronomise, ac medicinae laude prsestanss diceba- 
tur penitissimos magiae recessus indagasse.' A 
personage, thus spoken of by biographers and 
historians, loses little of his mystical fame in 
vulgar tradition. Accordingly, the memory of 
Sir Michael Scott survives in many a legend ; 
and in the south of Scotland, any work of great 
labour and antiquity is ascribed, either to the 
agency of Auld Michael, of Sir William Wallace, 
or of the devil."] 

Ak gloamin, as the sinking sun 

Gaed owre the wastlin' braes, 
And shed on Aikwood's haunted towers, 

His bright but fading rays ; 

Auld Michael sat his leafu' lane 

Down by the streamlet's side, 
Beneath a spreading hazel bush, 

And watched the passing tide. 

Wi' mennons wee, that loup'd for joy, ( ~j 

The water seemed a fry, 
And cross the stream, frae stane to stane, 

The trout gaed glancin' by. 






The sportive maukin frae his form 

Cam' dancing o'er the lea, 
And cocked his lugs, and wagged his fud, 

Sune 's Michael caught his e'e. 

The paitricks whirring nearer flew, — 

But, hark ! what is't I hear ? 
The horse's tramp and trumpet's note 

To Aikwood drawing near* 



&' 






rij 







I 



V®. 



L@2 



Auld Michael raised his stately form, 
And slowly hameward hied, — 

Eight weel he ken'd what knight and horse 
And trumpet did betide. 

" Our gracious king, to whom the Lcrd 

Grant aye a happy lot, 
This packet to his kinsman sends — 

The leal Sir Michael Scott. 

" And ye maun hie as fast as horse 

Will bear you owre tbe lea, 
To Frenchman's land, and to the king 

This packet ye maun gi'e. 

" An answer frae the Frenchman ye 

Maun seek for clean aff hand, 
Then hie thee to our sov'reign lord — 

Such is the king's command." 

So sp^ik' the knight, and Michael bow'd ! 

* ( The king's hests I'll obey, 
The fleetest steed I shall pre], are, 

And start ere break o' day." 

Auld Michael to his closet gaed, 

But lang he baid na there, 
He donn'd a cleuck baith auld and queer, 

And hunting cap o' hair. 

Frae a phial sma', a drap he pour'd, 

That sune rose till a flame, 
A gruesome low, whar elfins wee 

Jigg'd roun' wi' might and main. 

The low he toss'd up in the air, 

The sky grew black as coal, 
Some words he spak' that nae man ken'd, 

And thunders : gan to roll. 

The lightnings flash'd, the loud winds blew 
Till Aikwood trembling stood, 

And tall trees bent their stately forms 
Like eels in playfu' mood. 

Midst war o' winds and thunder's crash, 

The bravest weel might fear; 
The warlock wav'd his little wand, 

And through the storm did peer. 

His count'nance glow'd, for see he comes 

Borne on the blast along, 
A tall black steed, with eyes of flame, 

And thews and sinews strong ! 



" Now woe betide thee," Michael said, 
" If once thou slack'st thy speed, 

And bear'st me not by morrow's dawn, 
To France without remede." 

By this the storm had gone to rest, 
The moon shone clear and bright, 

And sma' white clouds were sailing roun', 
Ting'd by the pale orb's light. 

Tbe warlock and his steed flew on, 
Nought stay'd their headlong way, 

The highest peak, the lowest glen, 
"Were spang'd as 'twere but play. 

They bounded on, and night owls screeched, 

As pass'd this fremit pair, 
And in their beds the sleepers gran'd 

And row'd as in nightmare. 

On, on they sped like wintry blast, 

And long ere first cock-crow, 
The sea was cross'd, and Paris tow'rs 

"Were seen far far below. 

The palace porters trembling scan'd 

The black steed and his master, 
The courtiers half partook their fear ; 

But all burst out in laughter 

At Michael's dress ; but soon with voice j 

That made their dull ears ring, 
He names his errand, and demands 

An audience of the king. 

" What ! ye refuse, ye cringing pack, 

A messenger so mean ? 
Then stamp, my steed, and let them feel 

We're better than we seem !" 

The black horse stamp'd ; and lo ! the belli; 

Through all the town did sound, 
The steeple towers shook to their base , 

As heav'd up from the ground. 

" What ! do ye still my suit refuse ? 

Then stamp, my steed, once more!" 
The courtiers shook for very fear, 

And cross'd themselves right sore. 

Clash went the hoof, and sounds of woo 

Were heard on ev'ry side, 
The thunders roll'd, the lightnings glar'd, 

And through the air did ride 









02 



;:■-), 



Unearthly forms, with hoop and ho ! 

That spewed forth smoke and fire. 
f( Alack -a-day !" quoth the courtiers all, 

" That e'er we rais'd his ire." 

The muckle bell in Notre Dame 
Play'd jow, and burst in twain, 

And lofty tow'rs and pinnacles 
Came tumbling down amain. 

The bell-man on a gargoyle's * back 

Was shot out owre the Seine, 
His boy upon a wooden saint 

Went splash into the stream. 

The palace shook like saughen bush 

When wav'd by wastlin winds, 
Or like the corn ears in the sheaf, 

That harvest reaper binds. 

The king frae regal seat was toss'd, 

And piteously did roar, 
For a vulgar part o r his bodie 

Came thud upon the floor. 

" Alack -a-day !" his kingship moan'd, 

" Wha wrought a' this deray 
Maun e'en be mair than mortal man — 

dule's me on the day 

"He e'er cam' to our palace yett !" 

But Michael now nae langer 
Wad wait. " Ye poltroon knaves, tak' tent ! 

The third stamp shall be stranger." 

" Stop ! stop !" they cried, " thy mighty 
Nae mair we can withstand, [pow'r, 

A third stamp of thy fell black horse 
Wad ruin a' our land." 

An answer in hot haste was giv'n, 
And e'er you could say, whew J 

The warlock had bestrode his steed, 
And through the air they flew. 



tgs 



* Gargoyle — A projecting water spout, com- 
mon to different styles of architecture, and fre- 
quently sculptured into the shape of an open- 
mouthed monster. 

f Notre Dame, the principal cathedral in Paris, 
stands upon an island in the middle of the river 



J Seine, which intersects the city. 



And as they pass'd o'er Dover straits, 

The horse to speak began, 
A pawky beast, and, as he pleas'd, 

Was horse, or de'il, or man. 

" Come tell to me, master mine ! 

What do the auld wives say 
In Scotland when the sun gaes down, 

Ere to their beds they gae ?" 

But Michael was ow're slee e'en for 

The cunning o' the de'il — 
*' What's that to thee, Diabolus ? 

Mount, or my wand thou'lt feel. 

" But if indeed thou fain wadst ken 
What's by the auld wives said, 

Then darn thysel' at e'enin's fa' 
Close by some cottage bed ; 

" And when the sun has left the lift, 

And stars begin to peer 
Out through the blue, and sounds o' toil 

Nae mair fa' on the ear 

" Then wilt thou see auld Scotia's dames 

Kneel down to ane above, 
And name with reverence the name 

Of Him that's truth and love. 

" A name, Diabolus ! more dread 

To thee and all thy fry 
Than is thy hideous native form 

To untaught mortal eye." 

By this time they had England cross'd, 

And eke the Cheviots high ; 
The Pentlands had been left behind, 

And Holyrood was nigh. 

Here Michael parting frae his steed 

Straight to the palace went, 
In haste before his sov'reign lord 

Himself there to present. 

" What ho ! Sir Michael, art thou here ? 

Hast dar'd to disobey 
My orders, that ambassador 

To France thou'dst haste away ?" 

" Wilt please my sov'reign to receive 

This packet from my hand ? 
With right good will I have obey'd 

My monarch's just command." 



m 







H^VJ^SM^^ 3 



YzlA 



The king transfix'd wi' wonder stood, 

And scarce believ'd his e'en, 
The courtiers flabbergasted look'd, 

As doited they had been. 

Lang ere their senses had return'd 

Sir Michael aff had gane, 
And sped him back to Aikwood gray 

In haste his leafu' lane < 

W. G. B. 



[John Talbot. — Black Agnes of Dunbar was 
daughter of Thomas earl of Randolph, and wife 
of Patrick, 9th earl of Dunbar and March. She 
held the Castle of Dunbar nineteen weeks against 
the English, and at last compelled lord Montague 
to raise the siege. This took place in January, 
1337—8.] 

Some sing o' lords an' some o' knichts, 
An' some o' michty men o' war, 

But I sing o' a leddy bricht, 

The Black Agnace o' Dunnebar. 

Lord March rade to the Burgh Muir, 
Wi' him his vassals true an' bauld, 

An' left his wife an' her bouir-mayis 
To bide at hame an* keep the hauld. 

Then up and spak' Lord Montagow ; 

An ill deid may he dee therefore ! 
" Now busk an' boune, ye merrymen a', 

To see this leddy in her bouir." 

" O leddy March ! O leddy fair ! 

Do up your yetts an' speak to me, 
An' I'll gi'e you sic gold an' pearls, 

As ne'er a dame in Christendee." 

" Your perlins fine I carena by, 

As little care I for your gold ; 
An' while my lord is gane frae hame, 

The yetts fast lock'd I mean to hold." 

" O leddy bricht ! leddy fair ! 

Do up your yetts an' speak till me, 
An' I'll gi'e you sic cloth o' gold 

As ne'er a dame frae Tweed to Dee. 



" An' we will ride to London town, 
Richt welcome to our English king ; 

And you sail be Dame Montagow, 
For I'll gi'e you a weddin' ring. 

" An you sail ha'e baith lords an' knichts, 

An' little pages twenty-three ; 
An' hawks, an' hounds, an' horses baith, 

As ne'er a dame in Christendee." 

" Your rings o' gold I carena by, 
Nor care I for your falcons free ; 

I carena for your horse nor hounds, 
Nor for your pages twenty -three. 

" But tak' your pages bauld an' young, 
An' gi'e ilk ane a sword an' spear, 

An' set them on your horses good, 
An' mak' them michty men o' weir. 

" An' ye may tak' your lordings brave, 
Ah' deck them wi' your claith o' gold ; 

For while my ain gude lord's awa', 
My yetts fast lock'd I mean to hold." 

Now he has ta'en his mangonells, 

His warwolves an' his swine sae Strang, 

An' thunder'd at the castle yett, 
Wi' sturdy straiks fu' loud and lang. 

He gard the cross-bow strings to tirl, 
The quarrels fast an' thick they flew ; 

He gard his archers gude to stand 
An' stoutly ben' the trusty yew. 

The mangonells play'd fast an' free, 

Brought down big stanes frae aff the wa' ; 

Black Agnace wi' her napkin fine, 
Leuch loud an' dicht the stoor awa'. 

Then Montagow he swore an aith, 
That he wad tame that leddy's pride, 

An' moved his swine again the wa's, 
Wi' fifty men ilk ane inside. 

Upon the castle wa' she stood, 

The yirl o' March's sturdy marrow, 

An' leuch an' spak', " Lord Montagow, 
I trow thy swine are fain to furrow." 

Then lat she fa' a weigthy stane, 
Upon the English captain's swine ; 

The English lang may rue the day, 
That they sic fifty men did tine ! 




Then Montagow grew deidly pale, 

Wi' tremblin' voice then out spak' he : 

" Thir Scottish queans are devil's gets, 
Sic women did I never see. 

" I wat we've bidden here owre lang, 
But busk, my merrymen a', an' ride :" 

They didna need the bidden twice, 
I wat they werena brush to bide. 

Now sing wha lists o' lords an' knichts, 
An' sing wha lists o' men o' war; 

But let me sing this leddy bright, 
The Black Agnace o' Dunnebar. 



PiEitaiUp a Ji?aig 



[Modern Ballad by Henry Mackenzie, au- 
thor of The Man of Feeling.] 

" Saw ye the Thane o* meikle pride, 

Red anger in his eye ?" 
" I saw him not, nor care," he cried ; 

" Red anger frights na me. 

" For I have stuid whar honour bade, 
Though death trod on his heel : 

Mean is the crest that stoops to fear ; 
Nae sic may Duncan feel. 

" Hark ! hark ! or was it but the wind 
That through the ha' did sing ? 

Hark ! hark ! agen : a warlike shout 
The black woods round do ring. 

" 'Tis na for nought," bold Duncan cried, 

" Sic shoutings on the wind :" 
Syne up he started frae his seat, 

A thrang o' spears behind. 

' * Haste, haste, my valiant hearts," he said, 

" Anes mare to follow me ; 
We'll meet yon shouters by the burn ; 

I guess wha they may be. 

" But wha is he that speeds sae fast, 
Frae the slaw marching thrang ? 

Sae frae the mirk cloud shoots a beam, 
The sky's blue face alang. 



&\ 



m 



" Some messenger it is, mayhap :" 
" Then not of peace, I trow :" 

" My master, Duncan, bade me rin, 
And say these words to you. 

" Restore agen that bluiming rose, 
Your rude hand pluck'd awa' ; 

Restore again his Mary fair, 
Or you shall rue the fa'." 

Three strides the gallant Duncan tuik, 
And shuik his forward spear : 

" Gae tell thy master, beardless youth, 
We are na wont to fear. 

** He comes na' on a wassal rout, 

Of revel, sport, and play ; 
Our swords gart fame proclaim us men 

Lang ere this ruefu' day. 

" The rose I pluok'd, of right is mine ; 

Our hearts together grew 
Like twa sweet roses on ae sta'k — 

Frae hate to love she flew." 

Swift as a winged shaft he sped : 

Bold Duncan said, in jeer, 
" Gae tell thy master, beardless youth, 

We are na wont to fear. 

" He comes na on a wassel rout, 

Of reval, sport, and play; 
Our swords gart fame proclaim us men 

Lang ere this ruefu' day. 

" The rose I pluck'd, of right is mine ; 

Ova* hearts together grew 
Like twa sweet roses on ae sta'k — 

Frae hate to love he flew." 

He stamp'd his foot upo* the ground, 
And thus in wrath did say : 

" God strik' my saul if frae this field 
We baith in life shall gae." 



He wav'd his hand ; the pipes they play'd, Z f Jr) 

The targets clatter'd round, 
And now between the meeting faes 

Was little space of ground. ^gN *J 

But wha is she that rins sae fast ? 

Her feet nae stap they find : 
Sae swiftly rides the milky cloud 

Upon the simmer's wind. 



m 



%d 



Her face, a mantle screen'd afore, 

She show'd of lily hue : 
Sae frae the gray mist breaks the sun 

To drink the morning-dew. 

" Alake, my friends ! what sight is this ? 

Oh, stap your rage," she cried : 
" Whar love with honey'd lip should be, 

Mak' not a breach sae wide. 

" Can then my uncle draw his sword, 
My husband's breast to bleid ? 

Or can my sweet lord do to him 
Sic foul and ruthless deid ? 

" Bethink ye, uncle, of the time 

My gray-hair'd father died : 
Frae whar your shrill horn shuik the wood, 

He sent for you wi' speed : 

" ' My brother, gard my barn,' he said : 

' She has nae father soon : 
Regard her, Donald, as your ain : 

I'll ask nae ither boon.' 

" "Would then my uncle force my love, 

Whar love it could na be, 
Or wed me to the man 1 hate ? 

Was this his care of me ? 

" Can these brave men, who but of late 

Together chas'd the deer, 
Against their comrades bend their bows, 

In bluidy hunting here ?" 

She spake, while trickling ran the tears 

Her blushing cheek alang ; 
And silence, like a heavy cloud, 

O'er a' the warriors hang. 

Syne stapt the red-hair'd Malcom furth, 
Threescore his years and three ; 

Yet a' the strength of strongest youth 
In sic an eild had he : 

Nae pity was there in his breast, 

For war alane he lo'd ; 
His gray een sparkled at. the sight 

Of plunder, death, and bluid. 

" What! shall our hearts of steel," he said, 

" Bend to a woman's sang ? 
Or can her words our honour quit 

For sic dishonest wrang ? 



" For this did a' these warriors come, 

To hear an idle tale ; 
And o'er our death-accustom'd arms 

Shall silly tears prevail ?" 

They gied a shout, their bows they tuik, 
They clash'd their steely swords 

Like the loud waves of Bara's shore ; 
There was nae room for words. 

A cry the weeping Mary gied : 

" uncle ! hear my prayer; 
Heed na that man of bluidy look ; — " 

She had nae time for mair ; 

For in the midst anon there came 

A blind, unweeting dart, 
That glanc'd frae off her Duncan's targe, 

And struck her to the heart. 

A while she stagger'd, syne she fell, 

And Duncan see'd her fa' ; 
Astound he stood, for in his limbs 

There was nae power at a'. 

The spear he meant at faes to fling, 

Stood fix'd within his hand; 
His lips, half open, couldna speak ; 

His life was at a stand. 

Sae the black stump of some auld aik, 

With arms in triumph dight, 
Seems to the traveller like a man, 



J^iDBtgaOTClckg, 



[Rkprinted from a pamphlet published in 4to. 



m 



m* 



at Glasgow, 1770, by Robert and Andrew Foulis, sF~ 
and there said to be printed from the only copy V, ~ '\ 
known to remain, which had been preserved r. 1 
above sixty years by the care of Hugh Mont- i E 
gomerie, senior, at Eaglesham, long one of the ;t 
factors of the family of Eglintoun.] 



A noble Roman was the root 

From which Montgomeries came, 

Who brought his legion from the wsr, 
And settled the same 



CAj 




8 



£pon a hill 'twist Home and Spain, 

Gomericus* by name ; 
From which he and his off- spring do 

Their sir-name still retain. 

From this into the wars of France 
Their valour did them bring, 

That they great instruments might be 
To save the Gallic king : 

Here, with great splendor and renown, 

Six centuries they spend : 
At length for England they set sail; 

Ambition hath no end. 

On British ground they land at length : 

Rodger must general be, 
A cousin of the conqueror's, 

And fittest to supplie 

The greatest post ; into the field 

The army then leads he, 
Into a camp, Hastings by name, 

In Sussex, where you'll see 

The marks of camps unto this day ; 

And where you'll hear it told, 
The English king did them attack 

Most like a captain bold. 

But soon, alas ! he found it vain, 

With Rodger arms to try : 
This warry officer prepares, 

His projects to defy. 

The strong attacks he then observes, 
Which made him thence to dread, 

That England's king might be among 
Those who charged with such speed. 

The life-guards straight he ordered, 

Their fury to defend ; 
Where Harold, England's king, at once 

His crown and fife did end. 

Whence to the conqueror did come 

The English sceptre great, 
And William, England's king declar'd, 

To London came in state. 



* Mons Gomericus. 



Earl Rodger f then the greatest man, 
Next to the king was thought; 

And nothing that he could desire, 
But it to him was brought. 

Montgomery town, Montgomery shire 

And earl of Shresburie, 
And Arundale do show this man 

Of grandeur full to be. 

Thus did he live all this king's reign 

For works of piety, 
He built an abbacie, and then 

Prepar'd himself to die. 

At last king William yields to fate ; 

And then his second son 
Mounts on the throne, which had almost 

The kingdom quite undone : 

Some for the eldest son stand up, 

As Rodger's sons did all ; 
But the usurper keeps the throne, 

Which did begin their fall. 

Then Philip into Scotland came, 

Unable to endure, 
That they who earldoms had possest, 

Of nought should be secure. 

The king of Scots well knew the worth 

Of men of noble race, 
Who, in no times of ages past, 

Their worth did once deface. 

He in the Merse gives Philip lands, 

Which afterwards he soon 
With the black Douglass did exchange 

For Eastwood and Ponoon, 

Where many ages they did live, 

By king and country lov'd; 
As men of valour and renown, 

Who were with honour mov'd 

To shun no hazard when they could 

To either service do : 
Thus did they live, thus did they spend 

Their blood and money too. 



Art 



a& f Dugdale's Baronage, and Histories of England. 




At last earl Douglass did inform, 

That to our king's disgrace, 
An English earl had deeply swore, 

He'd hunt in Chevychase, 

And, maugre all that Scots could do, 

"Would kill and bear away 
The choicest deer of Otterburn,* 

And best of harts would slay. 

Our king sent his commands unto 

Sir Hugh Montgomerie, 
And told him Douglass wanted men 

Who fight could, but not flee. 

The stout Sir Hughf himself prepares, 

The Douglass to support ; 
And with him took his eldest son : 

Then did they all resort 

Unto the field, with their brave men, 
Where most of them did die ; 

Of fifteen hundred warlike Scots 
Came home but fifty-three. 

Douglass was slain ; Sir Hugh again 

The battle did renew ; 
He made no stand, with his own hand 

The earl Percy he slew. 

Sir Hugh was slain, Sir John maintain'd 

The honour of the day ; 
And with him brought the victory, 

And Percy's son away. 

He with his ransom built Ponoon, 

A castle which yet stands ; 
The king well pleas'd as a reward 

Did therefore give him lands ; 



And some time after gave his niece, 
Of Eglintoun the heir, 
"==z-_jr To Sir Hugh's representative ; 
His Thus joined was this pair. 

As with her came a great estate, 

So by her did descend 
Her royal blood to Lennox:}: house, 

Which did in Darnly end, 



* See Percy's Reliques, vol. I. p. 18, ed. 1794. 
+ Histories of Scotland. 
$ Earl of Lennox. 






Who father was to James the sixth, 

Of Britain the first king, 
Whose royal race unto this day 

Doth o'er Great Britain reign. 

Since you are come of royal blood, 
And kings are sprung from you ; 

See that with greatest zeal and love 
Those virtues ye pursue, 

Which to those honours rais'd your house, 

And shall without all stain, 
In heralds books your ensigns flowr'd, 

And counter-flowr'd main. 



ngpta 



LwniD. 



[Van Dvk.] 

Young Lamond, the pride of Argyllshire, 

Was hunting the red red deer, 
And he saw a hart in his own Glenfine, 

And pierced him with his spear. 

The hart flew on with the lightning's speed, 
Though the shaft was in his side, 

Till he came to a river's sloping bank, 
And plunged in the restless tide. 

The hunter follow'd with might and main, 
To the midst of the wild Glenstrae, 

Where the young Macgregor had thrown a 
lance, 
And wounded a hart that day. 

The deer o'er each other's path had eross'd, 
As they kept on their blood-track d flight, 

Until one sunk down on the heathei bed, 
And died in the hunter's sight. 

They met in a proud and angry mood, 

Who had never met before ; 
And a strife arose o'er the fallen prey, 

And each drew his broad claymore. 

In vain, in vain, did the Gregor's son 

On his rival hunter dart, 
For Lamond his shining weapon raised 

And buried it in his heart. 





He fled, pursued by his foeman's clan, 

But he soon outstript them all ; 
And when he had wander'd long and far, 

He came to an ancient hall. 

And he look'd on the face of an aged man, 

And he told him of the fray ; 
And the old man shelter'd and fed the youth 

Till the close of that fatal day. 

But soon he heard from a hundred lips 

That his only child was slain, 
That the last hope of a mighty clan 

Would never breathe again. 

He had foes around him — his strength was 
gone, 

And his race was nearly run ; 
And he wept with a lone and a desolate heart 

'er the fate of his noble son. 

But his word was pass'd to the stranger youth, 

And he led him forth at night, 
While the clan of Macgregor dream'd revenge, 

And grasp'd their weapons bright. 

He led him forth to broad Lochfine, 

Where a bark was seen to ride, 
And he soon was borne o'er the darkling waves, 

Once more to his own burn-side. 

" Henceforth," at parting, Macgregor said, 
" Thou must know me for thy foe : 

Oh ! he well may fear a sire's revenge, 
Who has laid his hopes so low." 

The barque shot off ; and the old man turn'd, 

With a feeble step, to roam 
Through the lonely glens and the misty braes, 

To his sad and childless home. 

But evil days o'er the good laird came, 

And he lost that home for aye ; 
And he left — and he left with a broken heart 

The scenes of his loved Glenstrae. 

Young Lamond then sought the wand'ring man, 

And open'd his hall-door wide, 
And he tended his wants with filial care 

Till the aged chieftain died. 



[" A fragment of this fine old ballad has been 
repeatedly published under the title of ' The 
cruel Knight.' The present edition has been 
IJ completed from two recited copies. Young 
I Johnstone's reason for being ' sae late a coming 
in,' has been suppressed, as well as a concluding 
I stanza of inferior merit, in which the catastrophe 
I is described in a manner quite satisfactory, but 
! not very poetical." — Finlay's Scottish Historical 
and Romantic Ballads."] 

I Young Johnstone and the young col'nel 

Sat drinking at the wine, 
I " gin ye wad marry my sister, 

Its I wad marry thine." 

j " I wadna marry your sister, 

For a' your houses and land, 
! But I'll keep her for my leman, 

When I come o'er the strand. 

I " I wadna marry your sister, 

For a' your gowd and fee ; 
j But I'll keep her for my leman, 

When I come o'er the sea." 

I Young Johnstone had a nut-brown sword,* 
Hung low down by his gair, f 
And he ritted it through the young col'nel, $ 
That word he ne'er spak' mair. 

; But he's awa' to his sister's bower, 
And he's tirled at the pin ; 
" Whar ha'e ye been, my dear Johnstone, 
Sae late a coming in ? 



* This was a favourite simile with our ances- 
tors, and did not imply, as some suppose, (see 
particularly a long note in Percy's Reliques, Vol. 
I. p. 90, last edit.) that they allowed their 
swords to rust from a noble contempt of appear- 
ance, but that it was a Damascus blade. — Finlay. 

f A gair is a piece of cloth inserted into a gar- 
ment to widen it. Gair is sometimes used for 
the whole dress, " Gainest under gore," the mo6t 
beautiful in dress ; a phrase of romance. — Finlay. 

$ Thrust it violently. The word ooeurs again 






m 



ci5 
m 







/^S> 



w 



I 



" I've dreamed a dream this night," she says, 

" I wish it may be good, 
They were seeking you with hawks and hounds, 

And the young colnel was dead." — * 

" They are seeking me with hawks and hounds, 

As I trow well they be ; 
For I have killed the young col'nel, 

And thy own true love was he." 

'* If ye ha'e killed the young col'nel, 

A dule and woe is me ; 
But I wish ye may be hanged on a hie gal- 
lows, 

An' ha'e nae power to flee." — 

And he's awa' to his lover's bower, 

He's tirled at the pin ; 
" Whar ha'e ye been, my dear Johnstone, 

Sae late a coming in ? 

" I've dreamed a dream, this night," she says, 

I wish it may be good, 
They were seeking you with hawks and hounds, 

And the young col'nel was dead." 

" They are seeking me with hawks and hounds, 

As 1 trow well they be, 
For I have killed the young col'nel, 

And thy ae brother was he." 

" If ye ha'e killed the young cornel, 

A dule and woe is me ; 
But I gi'e na sae much for the young col'nel, 

If thy ain body is free. 

" Come in, come in, my dear Johnstone, 

Come in and take a sleep, 
And I will go to my casement,! 

And carefully I'll thee keep." 

in Sir Tristrem, but I believe nowhere else ; in 
Sir Tristrem it simply nv ans cut. — Finlay. 

* Though the rhyme of this stanza may now 
appear licentious, it was not so formerly. Dead 
is to this day pronounced deed in Scotland, and 
good guede in Aberdeenshire. It seems indeed 
anciently to have been so pronounced univer- 
sally ; at least in the romance of Horn Child we 
read, 

' His giftes were nought guede.' — Finlay. 

f So the word has been corrupted ; it should 
be casemate, a loop-hole in a wall.— Finlay. 



She hadna weel gane up the stair 

And entered in her tower, 
Till four-and-twenty belted knights 

Came riding to the door. 

" did you see a bloody squire, 
A bloody squire was he ; 

did you see a bloody squire 
Come riding o'er the lea ?" 

" What colour were his hawks ?" she cried, 
" What colour were his hounds ? 

What colour was the gallant steed, 
That bore him from the bounds ?" 

" Bloody, bloody were his hawks, 

And bloody were his hounds, 
And milk-white was the gallant steed, 

That bore him from the bounds." 

" Yes, bloody, bloody were his hawks, 

And bloody were bis hounds, 
And milk-white was the gallant steed, 

That bore him from the bounds : 

" But light ye down, now, gentlemen. 
And take some bread and wine ; 

An' the steed be good he rides upon, 
He's past the bridge of Tyne." 

" We thank you for your bread, ladie, 
We thank you for your wine ; 

1 wad gi'e thrice three thousand pounds 

Your fair bodie was mine." — 

" Lie still, lie still, my dear Johnstone, 

Lie still and take a sleep, 
For there's four-and-twenty belted knighta 

Just gone out at the gate," 

But young Johnstone had a wee penknife, 

Hung low down by his gair, 
And he ritted it through his dear ladie, 

And wounded her sae sair. 

" What aileth thee, now dear Johnstone ? 

What aileth thee at me ? 
Hast thou not got my father's gold, 

Bot and my mother's tee ?" 

" Now live, now live, my dear ladie, 

Now live but half an hour ; 
And there's no a leech in a' Scotland, 

But shull be in thy bower." 



s 



w How can I live, my dear Johnstone ? 

How can I live for thee ? 
O do ye na see my red heart's blood 

Run trickling down my knee ? 

" But go thy way, my dear Johnstone, 

And ride along the plain ; 
And think no more of thy true love, 

Than she had never been." 



©j&e Stog P*n. 



[From Evans's Collection of Old Ballads.] 

A lady hearing her lover had fallen in single 
combat with his rival, calls to her attendant 
boy: — 

" O see you not yon bonnie ste:d, 

That eats beneath the tree ? 
O tarry not, my little boy, 

But bring him fast to me." 

The boy ran nimbly to the place, 
Where fed the milk-white steed, 

And brought him to the lady fair, 
"Who mounted him with speed. 

The whip she plied — the courser flew, 

The dust in clouds did rise, 
And soon she spied the dowy Den 

Where her true lover lies. 

But now the panting steed she stop'd, 
And on the ground she sprung, 

Then hied her to the fatal place, 
With trees and bushes hung. 

A dreary place, I ween, it was, 

And mournful to behold ; 
Above — the winds did doleful blow, 

Below — dark waters roll'd. 

AH cold and pale the youth was laid 

Fast by the rueful flood ; 
A breathless corse outstretch'd he lay, 

And all besmear'd with blood. 



" O sight of woe !" she cried and ran 

To where her lover lay, 
Then, like an aspin, quiv'ring stood, 

And gaz'd on the cold clay. 

That breast where oft thou, love-sick maid 

Hast laid thy languid head, 
Doth now present the ghastly wound 

Made by the deathful blade. 

Those yellow locks, that oft with joy 

Thy lily hand hath bound, 
Toss'd by the wind, now loosely flow 

Neglected on the ground. 

How cold and wan at noon that cheek, 
Where glow'd at morn the rose ! 

Those beauteous eyes the sleep of death 
Doth now for ever close. 

In silent anguish fix'd she stood, 

And o'er the body hung, 
Then stooping, grasp'd and kiss'd the hand, 

And sighing, thus began : 

" Nor wealth nor grandeur pow'r could have 

My faithful heart to shake ; 
For thee it beat, O much lov'd boy ! 

For thee it now doth break. 

(< Why did thy wrathful rival think 

His sword could us disjoin ? 
Did he not know that love had made 

My life but one with thine ? 

" Then, haughty baron, know it now, 

Nor hope I'll be thy bride; 
With this dear youth I joy to die, 

Contemn thy pomp and pride. 

" And thou, my father, come and sec 

How low thy daughter lies ; 
From crossing virtuous love, behold 

What dire misfortunes rise. 

" O hapless youth ! — But ah ! no more 
Her fault'ring tongue could say ; 

Then softly sunk upon his breast, 
And breath'd her soul away. 



Sk 






r; 



G%\ 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



& 






[This ballad differs essentially from that which 
has been published in various collections, under 
the title of Binnorie. It is compiled from a copy 
in Mrs Brown's MSS., intermixed with a beauti- 
ful fragment, of fourteen verses, transmitted to the 
editor by J. C. Walker, Esq. the ingenious histo- 
rian of the Irish bards. Mr Walker, at the same 
time, favoured the editor with the following note : 
"I am indebted to my departed friend, Miss Brook, 
for the foregoing pathetic fragment. Her account 
of it was as follows : This song was transcribed, 
several years ago, from the memory of an old 
v. oman, who had no recollection of the conclud- 
ing verses : probably the beginning may also be 
lost, as it seems to commence abruptly." The 
hist verse and burden of the fragment run thus: 

O suter, sister, reach thy hand! 

Hey ho, my Nanny, O ; 
And you shaU be heir of all my land, 

While the swan swims bonnie, O. 

The first part of this chorus seems to be cor- 
rupted fiom the common burden of Hey, Nonny, 
Nonny, alluding to the song, beginning, " Sigh 
no more, ladyes." The chorus, retained in this 
edition, is the most common and popular ; but 
Mrs Brown's copy bears a yet different burden, 
beginning thus: 

There were twa sisters sat in a bour, 
Edinborough, Edinborough; 

There were twa sisters sat in a bour, 
Stirling for aye ; 

There were twa sisters sat in a bour, 

There cam' a knight to be their wooer, 

Bonnie St Johnstoun stands upon Tay. 

The ballad, being probably very popular, was 
the subject of a parody, which is to be found in 
D'Urfey's " Pills to purge Melancholy."— Min- 
strelsy of the Scottish Border.] 

There were twa sisters sat in a bour; 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 

There came a knight to be their wooer; 

By the bonnie milldams of liiunorie. 

He courted the eldest with glove and ring; 

Binnorie, O Binnorie; 

But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing; 

By the bunnie milldams of Binnorie. 



He courted the eldest with broach and knife; 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 

But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life ; 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

The eldest she was vexed sair; 

Binnorie, Binnorie; 
And sore envied her sister fair ; 

By the bonnie milldams of Einnorie. 

The eldest said to the youngest ane, 

Binnorie, Binnorie; 
" Will ye go and see our father's ships come in?" 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

She's ta'en her by the lilly hand, 
Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 
And led her down to the river strand ; 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

The youngest stude upon a stane, 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 

And the eldest came and pushed her in ; 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

She took her by the middle sma', 
Binnorie, O Binnorie; 
And dashed her bonnie back to the jaw, 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

" O sister, sister, reach your hand," 

Binnorie, O Binnorie; 

" And ye shall be heir of half my land." 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

" sister, I'll not reach my hand," 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
"And I'll be heir of all your land ;" 
By the bonnie milldaa:s of Binnorie. 

" Shame fa' the hand that I should take," 

Binnorie, O Binnorie; 

" It's twin'd me, and my world's make." 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

" sister, reach me but your glove," 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 

" And sweet William shall be your love." 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

" Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove !" 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 
" And sweet William shall better be my love." 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 







^ 



" Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair," 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 
" Garr'd me gang maiden evermair." 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam, 

Binnorie, O Binnorie; 
Until she cam' to the miller's dam, 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

" O father, father, draw your dam!" 

Binnorie, O Binnorie; [swan." 

" There's either a mermaid, or a milk-white 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

The miller hasted and drew his dam, 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 
And there he found a drowned woman, 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

You could not see her yellow hair, 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 

For gowd and pearls that were sae rare, 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

You could na see her middle sma', 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 
Her gowden girdle was sae bra' ; 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

A famous harper passing by, 

Binnorie, O Binnorie; 
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy ; 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

And when he looked that lady on, 

Binnorie, O Binnorie; 
He sighed, and made a heavy moan ; 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

He made a harp of her breast-bone, 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 

Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone , 

3y the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

The strings he framed of her yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 

Whose notes made sad the listening ear; 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

He brought it to her father's hall ; 

Binnorie, O Binnorie; 
And there was the court assembled all ; 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 



!i> He laid his harp upon a stone, 
Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 
And straight it began to play alone ; 
By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

" O yonder sits my father, the king," 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 

'.' And yonder sits my mother, the queen ;" 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

" And yonder stands my brother Hugh," 

Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 

" And by him my William sweet and true." 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 

But the last tune that the harp play'd then, 

Binnorie, O Binnore ; 

Was — " Woe to my sister, false Helen !" 

By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 



[From the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 
— " In the very time of the General Assembly, 
there comes to public knowledge a haynous mur- 
ther, committed in the court ; yea, not far from 
the queen's lap; for a French woman, that 
served in the queen's chamber, had played the 
whore with the queen's own apothecary. — The 
woman conceived a.nd bare a childe, whom, 
with common consent, the father and mother 
murthered; yet were the cries of a new-borne 
childe hearde, searche was made, the childe and 
the mother were both apprehended, and so were 
the man and the woman condemned to be 
hanged in the publicke street of Edinburgh. The 
punishment was suitable, because the crime was 
haynous. But yet was not the court purged of 
whores and whoredoms, which was the foun- 
taine of such enormities ; for it was well known 
that shame hasted marriage betwixt John Sem- 
pill, called the Dancer, and Mary Levingston, 
sirnamed the Lusty. What bruit the Maries, 
and the rest of the dancers of the court had, the 
ballads of that age do witnesse, which we, for 
modestie's sake, omit ; but this was the common 
complaint of all godly and wise men, that, if 
they thought such a court could long continue, 
and if they looked for no better life to come, they 
■ would have wished their sonnes and daughters 






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rather to have been brought up with fiddlers 
and dancers, and to have been exercised with 
flinging upon a floore, and in the rest that 
thereof followes, than to have been exercised in 
the company of the godly, and exercised in vir- 
tue, which in that court was hated, and filthe- 
nesse not only maintained, but also rewarded; 
witnesse the abbey of Abercorne, the barony of 
Auchvermuchtie, and divers others, pertaining 
to the patrimony of the crown, given in heritage 
to skippers and dancers, anddalliers with dames. 
This was the beginning of the regiment of Mary, 
queen of Scots, and these were the fruits that 
she brought forth of France.— Lord ! look on our 
miseries ! and deliver us from the wickednesse of 
this corrupt court!" — Knox's History of the Re- 
formation, p. 373-4.* 

Such seems to be the subject of the following 
ballad, as narrated by the stern apostle of pres- 
bytery. It will readily strike the reader, that 
the tale has suffered great alterations, as handed 
down by tradition ; the French waiting-woman 
being changed into Mary Hamilton, and the 
queen's apothecary into Henry Darnley. Yet 
this is less surprising, when we recollect, that 
one of the heaviest of the queen's complaints 
against her ill-fated husband, was his infidelity, 
and that even with her personal attendants. I 
have been enabled to publish the following com- 
plete edition of the ballad, by copies from various 
quarters ; that principally used was communi- 
cated to me, in the most polite manner, by Mr 
Kirkpatricke Sharpe, of Hoddom, to whom I am 
indebted for many similar favours. — Scotl's Min- 
sirelsy.] 

Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, 

Wi' ribbons on her hair * 
The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, 

Than ony that were there. 

Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, 

Wi' ribbons on her breast ; 
The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, 

Than he listen'd to the priest. 

Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, 

Wi' gluves upon her hands ; 
The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, 

Than the queen and a' her lands. 



* A very odd coincidence, in name, crime, and ca- 
tastrophe, occurred at the court of Czar Peter the 
Great.— Scott. 




She hadna been about the king's court 

A month, but barely one, 
Till she was beloved by a' the king's court, 

And the king the only man. 

She hadna been about the king's court 

A month, but barely three, 
Till frae the king's court Marie Hamilton, 

Marie Hamilton durst na be. 

The king is to the Abbey gane, 

To pu' the Abbey tree, 
To scale the babe frae Marie's heart ; 

But the thing it wadna be. 

O she has row'd it in her apron, 

And set it on the sea, — 
" Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonnie babe, 

Ye's get na mair o' me." 

Word is to the kitchen gane, 

And word is to the ha', 
And word is to the noble room, 

Amang the ladyes a', 
That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed, 

And the bonnie babe's mist and awa'. 

Scarcely had she lain down again, 

And scarcely fa'n asleep, 
When up then started our gude queen, 

Just at her bed-feet ; 
Saying — " Marie Hamilton, where's your 
babe? 

For I am sure I heard it greet." 

" O no, O no, my noble queen 1 

Think no such thing to be ; 
'Twas but a stitch into my side. 

And sair it troubles me." 

< 
" Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton : 

Get up, and follow me ; 
For I am going to Edinburgh town, 

A rich wedding for to see." 

O slowly, slowly, raise she up, 

And slowly put she on ; 
And slowly rode she out the way, 

Wi' mony a weary groan. 

The queen was clad in scarlet, 

Her merry maids all in green ; 
And every town that they cam' to, 

They took Marie for the queen. 



■* Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen, 

Hide hooly now wi' me ! 
For never, I am sure, a wearier burd 

Rade in your cumpanie." 

But little wist Marie Hamilton, 

When she rade on the brown, 
That she was gaen to Edinburgh town, 

And a' to be put down. 

" "Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives, 

Why look ye so on me ? 
0, I am going to Edinburgh town, 

A rich wedding for to see." 

When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs, 
The corks frae her heels did flee ; 

And lang or e'er she cam' down again, 
She was condemned to dee. 

When she cam to the Netherbow-port,* 

She laughed loud laughters three ; 
But when she cam' to the gallows foot, 
The tears blinded her e'e. 

" Yestreen the queen had four Maries, 
The night she'll ha'e but three;! 

There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Eeatcn, 
And Marie Carmichael, and me. 



* The Netherbow-port was the gate which 
divided the city of Edinburgh from the suburb, 
called the Canongate. It had towers and a 
spire, which formed a fine termination to the 
view from the cross. The gate was pulled down 
in one of those fits of rage for indiscriminate 
destruction, with which the magistrates of a 
corporation are sometimes visited. — Scott. 

f The queen's Maries were four young ladies 
of the highest families in Scotland, who were 
6ent to France in her train, and returned with 
her to Scotland. They are mentioned by Knox 
in the quotation introductory to this ballad 
Keith gives us their names, p. 55. " The young 
queen, Mary, embarked at Dunbarton for France ; 

and with her went, , and four 

young virgins, all of the name of Mary, vi 
Livingston, Fleming, Seaton, and Beatoun 
The queen's Maries are mentioned again by the 
same author, p. 288 and 291, in the note. ETei' 
ther Mary Livingston, nor Mary Fleming, are 
mentioned in the ballad; nor are the Mary 
Hamilton, and Mary Carmichael, of the ballad 



• 0, often have I dress'd my queen, 
And put gold upon her hair; 

But now I've gotten for my reward 
The gallows to be my share ; 

" Often have I dress'd my queen, 

And often made her bed; 
But now I've gotten for my reward 

The gallows tree to tread. 

" I charge ye all, ye mariners, 

When ye sail ower the faein, 
Lst neither my father nor mother get wit 

But that I'm coming hame. 

" I charge ye all, ye mariners, 

That sail upon the sea, 
Let neither my father nor mother get wit 

This dog's death I'm to dee. 

" For if my father and mother got wit, 
And my bold brethren three, 

'miekle wad be the gude red blude, 
This day wad be spilt for me I 

" O little did my mother ken, 

The day she cradled me, 
The lands I was to travel in, 

Or the death I was to dee." 



? 



mentioned by Keith. But if this corps con- 
tinued to consist of young virgins, as when 
originally raised, it could hardly have subsisted 
without occasional recruits ; especially if we trust 
our old bard, and John Knox. 

The queen's Maries are mentioned in many 
ballads, and the name seems to have passed into 
a general denomination for female attendants ; 
Now bear a hand my Maries a', 
And busk ine brave, and make me fine. 

Old Ballad.- Scott. 



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MARY HAMILTON". 

[From Motherwell's Collection. As tradi- 
tionally preserved in the West of Scotland.] 

There lives a knight into the north, 

And he had daughters three ; 
The ane of them was a barber's wife, 

The other a gay ladie ; 









I 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






8 



s 



And the youngest o' them to Scotland is gane 

The queen's Mary to be, 
And for a' that they could say or do 

Forbidden she wouldna be. 

The prince's bed it was sae saft, 

The spices they were sae fine, 
That out of it she could not lye 

"While she was scarce fifteen. 

She's gane to the garden gay 

To pu' of the Savin tree, 
But for a' that she could say or do 

The babie it would not dee. 

She's rowed it in her handkerchief, 

She threw it in the sea, 
Says, — " Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe, 

For ye'll get nae mair of me." 

Queen Mary came tripping down the stair, 
Wi' the gold strings in her hair ; 

" O whare's the little babie," she says, 
" That I heard greet sae sair ?" 

" hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame, 

Let all those words go free ; 
It was mysel' wi' a fit o' the sair colic, 

I was sick just like to dee." 

" hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, 
Let all those words go free ; 

where is the little babie 
That I heard weep by thee ?" 

" I rowed it in my handkerchief, 
And threw it in the sea ; 

1 bade it sink, I bade it swim, 

It would get nae mair o' me." 

" O wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton, 

And an ill deid may you dee ; 
For if you had saved the babie's life, 

It might ha'e been an honour to thee. 

" Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton, 

O busk ye to be a bride ; 
For I am going to Edinburgh town 

Your gay wedding to bide. 

" Ye must not put on your robes of black, 

Nor yet your robes of brown ; 
But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs, 

To shine through Edinburgh town." 



\& " I will not put on my robes of black, 
Nor yet my robes of brown ; 
But I will put on my yellow gold stu.Ts, 
To shine through Edinburgh town." 

As she went up the Parliament Close, 

A riding on her horse, 
There she saw many a Burgess' lady 

Sit greeting at the cross. 

" what means a' this greeting, 

I'm sure its nae for me, 
For I'm come this day to Edinburgh town 

Weel wedded for to be." 

When she gade up the Parliament stair, 

She gied loud lauchters three; 
But ere that she had come down again, 

She was condemned to dee. 

" O little did my mother think 
The day she prinned my gown, 

That 1 was to come sae far frae hame 
To be hanged in Edinburgh town. 

" what'll my poor father think, 
As he comes through the town, 

To see the face of his Molly fair 
Hanging on the gallows pin. 

" Here's a health to the mariners 

That plough the raging main ; 
Let neither my mother nor father ken 

But I'm coming hame again. 

" Here's a health to the sailors 

That sail upon the sea ; 
Let neither my mother nor father ken 

That I came here to dee. 

" Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, 
This night she'll ha'e but three ; 

There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton, 
And Mary Carmichael, and me." 

" hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, 

Let all those words go free ; 
This night ere ye be hanged, 

Ye shall gang hame wi' me." 

" O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame, 

Let all those words go free, 
Since I have come to Edinburgh town, 

Its hanged I shall be ; 
For it shall ne'er be said that in your court 

I was condemned to dee.'' 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



265 



JaMef© SUmmit* 



[Although the persons -who figure in this 
ball?.d belong to a very humble class of society, 
it is not easy for the most fastidious reader to 
withhold his sympathies from it. It is said to 
be founded on real circumstances : the daughter 
of the Miller of Tifty, near Fyvie, in Aberdeen- 
shire, fell in love with the trumpeter of the 
Laird of Fyvie, and being prevented from mar- 
rying him, by her father, who esteemed the 
match beneath his- dignity, died in consequence 
of a broken heart. Both parties are said to have 
been remarkable for good looks. Annie's death, 
according to her grave-stone in Fyvie church- 
yard, took place in 1631. Andrew, however, 
did not die, as related in the ballad. There is a 
tradition in " the Lawland leas of Fyvie," that, 
some years afterwards, the melancholy fate of 
Tifty's Annie being mentioned, and the ballad 
sung in a company in Edinburgh where he was 
present, he remained silent and motionless, till 
at length he was discovered by a groan suddenly 
oursting from him, and several of the buttons 
flying from his waistcoat. This will remind the 
reader of King Lear calling to hi3 attendants to 
unbutton him, and also of a circumstance which 
occurs in the beautiful ballad of " the Marchio- 
ness of Douglas." It would appear that, in 
Allan Eamsay's day, " Bonnie Andrew Lam- 
mie" was a person of traditional celebrity. In 
the beginning of that poet's third canto of 
" Christ's Kirk on the Green," a good old free- 
spoken cummer, as the best evidence of the 
power of her youthful charms, says — 

" I'se warrant ye have a' heard tell 

O' bonnie Andrew Lammie ; 
Stiffly in love wi' me he fell, 

As soon as e'er he saw me— 

That was a day I" — Chambers.] 

At Mill o' Tifty liv'd a man, 
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie; 

He had a lovely daughter fuir, 
"Was called bonnie Annie. 

Her bloom was like the springing flower, 
That salutes the rosy morning; 

With innocence, and graceful mien, 
Her beauteous form adorning. 



Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter, 

Whose name was Andrew Lammie ; 

He had the art to gain the heart 
Of Mill o' Tiftie's Annie. 

Proper he was, both young and gay, 

His like was not in Fyvie; 
iSTo one was there that could compare 

With this same Andrew Lammie. 

Lord Fyvie he rode by the door, 

Where lived Tiftie's Annie ; 
His trumpeter rode him before, 

Even this same Andrew Lammie, 

Her mother call'd her to the door, 
" Come here to me, my Annie; 

Did your ever see a prettier man, 
Than this trumpeter of Fyvie ?" 

She sighed sore but said no more, 

Alas ! for bonnie Annie ; 
She durst not own her heart was won 

By the trumpeter of Fyvie. 

At night when they went to their beds, 
All slept full sound but Annie ; 

Love so opprest her tender breast, 
Thinking on Andrew Lammie. 

" Love comes in at my bed side, 
And love lies down beyond me ; 

Love has possess'd my tender breast, 
And love will waste my body. 

" The first time I and my love met, 

Was in the woods of Fyvie ; 
His lovely form and speech so sweet, 

Soon gain'd the heart of Annie. 

" He call'd me mistress, I said, No, 

I'm Tiftie's bonnie Annie; 
With apples sweet, he did me treat, 

And kisses soft and many. 

" Its up and down in Tiftie's den, 

Where the burn rins clear and bonnie, 

I've often gone to meet my love, 
My bonnie Andrew Lammie." 

But now, alas ! her father heard, 
That the trumpeter of Fyvie 

Had had the art to gain the heart 
Of Tiftie's bonnie Annie. 
















Her father soon a letter wrote, 

And sent it on to Fyvie, 
To tell his daughter was bewitch'd 

By his servant Andrew Lammie. 

"When Lord Fyvie had this letter read, 

dear ! but he was sorry ; 
The bonniest lass in Fy vie's land 

Is bewitched by Andrew Lammie. 

Then up the stair his trumpeter 

He called soon and shortly ; 
'* Pray tell me soon, "What's this you've done, 

To Tiftie's bonnie Annie?" 

"In wicked art I had no part, 

Nor therein am I canny ; 
True love alone the heart has won, 

Of Tiftie's bonnie Annie. 

" Woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride, 

For it has ruin'd many ; 
He'll no ha'e't said that she should wed 

The trumpeter of Fyvie. 

" Where will I find a boy so kind, 

That '11 carry a letter canny, 
"Who will run on to Tiftie's town, 

Give it to my love Annie ?" 

" Here you shall find a boy so kind, 

Who '11 carry a letter canny ; 
"Who will run on to Tiftie's town, 

And giVt to thy love Annie." 

" Its Tiftie he has daughters three, 
Who all are wond'rous bonnie; 

But ye'U ken her o'er a' the lave, 
Gi'e that to bonnie Annie." 

" Its up and down in Tiftie's den, 

Where the burn runs clear and bonnie; 

There wilt thou come and meet thy love, 
Thy bonnie Andrew Lammie. 

" When wilt thou come, and I'll attend, 

My love I long to see thee?" 
" Thou may'st come to the Bridge of Sleugh, 

And there I'll come and meet thee. 

" My love, I go to Edinbro', 

And for a while must leave thee;" 

She sighed sore, and said no more, 
" But I wish that I were wi' thee." 






' I'll buy to thee a bridal gown, 

My love I'll buy it bonnie ;" 
" But I'll be dead ere ye come back 

To see your bonnie Annie." 

" If you'll be true and constant too, 
As my name's Andrew Lammie; 

I shall thee wed when I come back 
To see the lands of Fyvie." 

" I will be true and constant too, 
To thee my Andrew Lammie, 

But my bridal bed will ere then be made 
In the green church -yard of Fyvie." 

" Our time is gone and now comes on, 
My dear, that I must leave thee ; 

If longer here I should appear, 
Mill o' Tiftie he would see me." 

" I now for ever bid adieu 

To thee my Andrew Lammie ; 

Ere ye come back, I will be laid 

In the green church -yard of Fyvie." 

He hied him to the head of the house, 

To the house top of Fyvie; 
He blew his trumpet loud and schill, 

'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie. 

Her father lock'd the door at night, 

Laid by the keys fu' canny; 
And when he heard the trumpet sound, 

Said, " Your cow is lowing, Annie." 

" My father dear, I pray forbear, 
And reproach no more your Annie; 

For I'd rather hear that cow to low, 
Ihan ha'e a' the kine in Fyvie. 

" I would not for my braw new gown, 

A nd a' your gifts so many, 
That it were told in Fyvie's land, 

How cruel you are to Annie. 

" But if ye strike me I will cry, 
And gentlemen will hear roe; 

Lord Fyvie will be riding by, 
And he'll come in and see me." 

At the same time, the lord came in, 
He said, " What ails thee Annie ?" 

" 'Tis all for love now I must die, 
For bonnie Andrew Lammie." 



(fi>~ 








^ 



" Pray Mill o* Tifty gi'e consent, 
And let your daughter marry." 

" It will be with some higher match, 
Than the trumpeter of Fyvie." 

"If she were come of as high a kind, 
As she's adorned with beauty; 

I would take her unto myself, 
And make her mine own lady." 

" Its Fyvie's lands are fair and wide, 
And they are rich and bonnie ; 

1 would not leave my own true love, 
For all the lands of Fyvie." 

Her father struck her wond'rous sere, 

As also did her mother ; 
Htr sisters always did her scorn ; 

But woe be to her brother. 

Her brother struck her wond'rous 3ore, 
With cruel strokes and many ; 

He brake her back in the hall door, 
For liking Andrew Lammie. 

" Alas ! my father and mother dear, 
Why so cruel to your Annie ? 

My heart wa6 broken first by love, 
My brother has broken my body. 

" mother dear make ye my bed, 

And lay my face to Fyvie ; 
Thus will I ly, and thus will die, 

For my love Andrew Lammie ! 

" Ye neighbours hear both far and near, 

Ye pity Tif tie's Annie; 
Who dies for love of one poor lad, 

For bonnie Andrew Lammie. 

" No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life, 
Nor hurt my virgin honour ; 

My youthful heart was won by love. 
But death will me exoner." 

Her mother then she made her bed, 

And laid her face to Fyvie ; 
Her tender heart it soon did break, 

And ne'er saw Andrew Lammie. 

But the word soon went up and down, 
Through all the lands of Fyvie; 

That she was dead and buried, 
Even Tiftie's bonnie Annie. 



Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands, 
Said, " Alas ! for Tiftie'8 Annie, 

The fairest flower's cut down by love, 
That e'er sprung up in Fyvie." 

" O woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride, 
He might have let them marry; 

I should have given them both to live, 
Into the lands of Fyvie." 

Her father sorely now laments 

The loss of his dear Annie, 
And wishes he had gi'en consent, 

To wed with Andrew Lammie. 

Her mother grieves both air and late, 
Her sister's cause they scorn'd her; 

Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve, 
For the cruel usage he'd given her. 

But now, alas I it was too late, 

For they could not recall her ; 
Through life, unhappy is their fate, 

Because they did controul her. 

When Andrew hame from Edinburgh came, 
With meikle grief and sorrow; 

" My love has died for me to-day, 
I'll die for her to-morrow. 

" Now I will on to Tiftie's den, 

Where the burn rins clear and bonnie; 

With tears I'll view the bridge of Sleugh, e 
Where I parted last with Annie. 

" Then will I speed to the church-yard, 
To the green church-yard of Fyvie ; 

With tears I'll water my love's grave, 
Till I follow Tiftie's Annie." 

Ye parents grave, who children have, 

In crushing them be canny ; 
Lest when too late you do repent, 

Remember Tiftie's Annie. 









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* In one printed copy, 'this is "Sheugh," and in a 
recited copy, it was called " Skew ;" which is the 
right reading, the editor, from his ignorance of 
the topography of the lands of Fyvie, is unable to 
say. It is a received superstition in Scotland, 
that when friends or lovers part at a bridge, 
they shall never again meet.— Motherwell. 






268 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



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[This ballad wag first printed in an imperfect 
state in the Tea Table Miscellany. Mr Finlay in 
his collection gave a more complete version, 
which we here follow. In Mr Chambers's Pic- 
ture of Scotland, we have this account of the 
circumstances on which the ballad was founded. 
— " John, the sixth Earl of Cassilis, a stern cove- 
nanter, and of whom it is recorded by Bishop 
Burnet, that he never would permit his language 
to be understood but in its direct sense, obtained 
to wife Lady Jean Hamilton, a daughter of Tho- 
mas, first Earl of Haddington, a man of singular 
genius, who had raised himself from the Scottish 
bar to a peerage and the best fortune of his time. 
The match, as is probable from the character of 
the parties, seems to have been one dictated by 
policy; for Lord Haddington was anxious to 
connect himself with the older peers, and Lord 
Cassilis might have some such anxiety to be 
allied to his father-in-law's good estates; the 
religion and politics of the parties, moreover, 
were the same. It is therefore not very likely 
that Lady Jean herself had much to say in the 
bargain. On the contrary, says report, her affec- 
tions were shamefully violated. She had been 
previously beloved by a gallant young knight, a 
Sir John Faa of Dunbar, who had perhaps seen 
her at her father's seat of Tynningham, which is 
not more than three miles from that town. 
When several years were spent and gone, and 
Lady Cassilis had brought her husband three 
children, this passion led to a dreadful catastro- 
phe. Her youthful lover, seizing an opportunity 
when the Earl was attending the Assembly of 
Divines at Westminster, came to Cassilis Castle, 
a massive old tower on the banks of the Doon, 
four miles from May bole, then the principal 
residence of? the family, and which is still to be 
seen in its original state. He was disguised as a 
gypsy, and attended by a band of these desperate 
outcasts. In the words of the ballad, 

¥^% 

" They cuist the glaumourye ower her." 

But love has a glamourye for the eyes much 
more powerful than that supposed of old to be 
practised by wandering gypsies, and which must 
have been the only magic used on this occasion, i 



1 



The Countess condescended to elope with her 
lover. Most unfortunately, ere they had pro- 
ceeded very far, the Earl came home, and, learn- 
ing the fact, immediately set out in pursuit. 
Accompanied by a band which put resistance 
out of the question, he overtook them, and cap- 
tured the whole party, at a ford over the Doon, 
still called the Gypsies' Steps, a few miles from 
the castle. He brought them back to Cassilis, 
and there hanged all the Gypsies, including the 
hapless Sir John, upon 'the Dule Tree,' a 
splendid and most umbrageous plane, which yet 
flourishes upon a mound in front of the castle 
gate, and which was his gallows-in-ordinary, as 
the name testifies. As for the Countess, whose 
indiscretion occasioned all this waste of human 
life, she was taken by her husband to a window 
in front of the castle, and there, by a refinement 
of cruelty, compelled to survey the dreadful 
scene— to see, one after another, fifteen gallant 
men put to, death, and at last to witness the 
dying agonies of him who had first been dear to 
her, and who had perilled all that men esteem in 
her behalf. The particular room in the stately 
old house where the unhappy lady endured this 
horrible torture, is still called 'the Countess's 
Boom.' After undergoing a short confinement 
in that apartment, th« house belonging to the 
family at Maybole was fitted for her reception, 
by the addition of a fine projecting stair-case, 
upon which were carved heads representing 
those of her lover and his band ; and she was re- 
moved thither and confined for the rest of her 
life — the Earl in the meantime marrying another 
wife. One of her daughters, Lady Margaret, was 
afterwards married to the celebrated Gilbert 
Burnet. While confined in Maybole Castle, she 
is said to have wrought a prodigious quantity of 
tapestry, so as to have completely covered the 
walls of her prison ; but no vestige of it is now 
to be seen, the house having been repaired, 
(otherwise ruined,) a few years ago, when sue- 
paint had become a more fashionable thing in 
Maybole than tapestry. The effigies of the 
gypsies are very minute, being subservient to the 
decoration of a fine triple window at the top of 
the stair-ease, and stuck upon the tops and 
bottoms of a series of little pilasters, which 
adorn that part of the building. The head of 
Johnie Faa himself is distinct from the rest, 
larger, and more lachrymose in the expression of 
the features. Some windows in the upper flat of 
Cassilis Castle are similarly adorned : but regard- 
ing them tradition is silent."] 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



269 



The gypsies cam' to our gude lord's yett, 

And O but they sang sweetly ; 
They sang sae sweet and sae very complete, 

That doun cam' our fair lady. 

And she cam' tripping down the stair, 

And all her maids before her ; 
As sune as they saw her weel-fa'ured face, 

Tiiey ouist the glaumourye* ower her. 

" come with me," says Johnie Faa; 

" O come with me, my dearie ; 
For 1 vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword. 

That your lord shall nae maircome near ye !" 

Then she gied them the gude wheit breid, 

And they ga'e her the ginger ; 
But she gied them a far better thing, 

The gowd ring aff her finger. 

" Gae tak' frae me this gay mantil, 

And bring to me a plaidie ; 
For if kith and kin and a' had sworn, 

I'll follow the gipsey laddie. 

" Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed, 

Wi' my gude lord beside me ; 
This night I'll he in a tenant's barn, 

Whatever shall betide me." 

" Come to your bed," says Johnie Faa; 

" Come to your bed, my dearie ; 
For I vow and I swear by the hilt o' my sword, 

That your lord shall nae mair come near je." 

" I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faa; 

I'll go to bed to my dearie ; 
For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand, 

That my lord shall nae mair come near me. 

" I'll mak' a hap to my Johnie Faa; 

I'll mak' a hap to my dearie ; 
And he's get a' the sash gaes round, 

And my lord shall nae mair come near me." 

And when our lord cam' hame at e'en, 

And speired for his fair lady, 
The tane she cried, and the other replied, 

" She's away wi' the gipsy laddie." 



* A species of magical illusion, which the 
gypsies were formerly believed to exercise. 

Chambers. 




" G-ae saddle to me the black black steed, 
Gae saddle and mak' him ready ; 

Before that I either eat or sleep, 
I'll gae seek my fair lady." 

And we were fifteen weel-made men, 
Although we were na bonnie ; 

And we were a put down for ane, 
A fair young wanton lady. 



raw 



[This ballad first appeared in a complete shape 
in Mr Sharp's "North Country Garland." The 
story on which it is founded is thus narrated by 
Mr Chambers. — " A mortal feud having arisen 
betwixt the Laird of Frendraught and the Laird 
of Rothiemay, both gentlemen of Banffshire, a 
rencontre took place, at which the retainers of 
both were present, on the 1st cf January, 1630; 
when Rothiemay was killed, and several persons 
hurt on both sides. To staunch this bloody 
quarrel, the Marquis of Huntly, who was chief to 
both parties, and who had therefore a right to 
act as arbiter between them, ordered Frend- 
raught to pay fifty thousand merks to Rothie- 
may's widow. In the ensuing September, Frend- 
raught fell into another quarrel, in the course of 
which James Lesly, son to Lesly of Pitcaple, was 
shot through the arm. Soon after the last inci- 
dent, Frendraught having paid a visit to the 
Marquis of Huntly at the Bog of Gight, the 
Laird of Pitcaple came up with thirty armed men 
to demand atonement for the wound of his son. 
Huntly acted in this case with great discretion. 
Without permitting the two lairds to come to a 
conference, he endeavoured to persuade the com- 
plaining party that Frendraught was in reality 
innocent of his son's wound ; and, as Pitcaple 
went away vowing vengeance, he sent Frend- 
raught home under a strong escort, which was 
commanded by his son the Viscount Aboyne, 
and by the young Laird of Rothiemay, son to 
him whom Frendraught had killed some months 
before. The party reached Frendraught Castle 
without being attacked by Pitcaple ; when, 
Aboyne and Rothiemay offering to take leave of 
Frendraught and his lady, in order to return 
home, they were earnestly entreated by these in- 
\\ dividuals to remain a night, and postpone their 



t o^ 



m 















270 



MS 

§ 



w 



m 



return till to-morrow. Being with difficulty < 
prevailed upon, the young Viscount and Rothie- 
may were well entertained, and after supper 
went cheerfully to bed. To continue the narra- 
tive in the words of Spalding — ' The Viscount 
was laid in an bed in the Old Tower going off ihe 
hall, and standing upon a vault, wherein there 
was ane round hole, devised of old, just under 
Aboyne's bed. Robert Gordon, his servitor, and 
English Will, his page, were both laid in the 
same chamber. The Laird of Rothiemay, with 
some servants beside him, was laid in another 
chamber just above Aboyne's chamber; and in 
another room, above that chamber, were laid 
George Chalmers of Noth, and George Gordon, 
another of the Viscount's servants ; with them 
also was laid Captain Rolloch, then in Frend- 
raught's own company. All being thus at rest, 
about midnight that dolorous tower took fire in 
so sudden and furious a manner, yea, and in ane 
clap, that the noble Viscount, the Laird of Ro- 
thiemay, English Will, Colonel Wat, another of 
Aboyne's servants, and other two, being six in 
number, were cruelly burnt and tormented to 
the death, without help or relief; the Laird of 
Frendraught, his lady, and haill household look- 
ing on, without moving or stirring to deliver 
them from the fury of this fearful fire, as was re- 
ported. Robert Gordon, called Sutherland Gor- 
don, being in the Viscount's chamber, escaped 
this fire with the life. George Chalmers and 
Captain Rolloch, being in the third room, escaped 
this fire also, and, as was said, Aboyne might 
have saved himself also if he would have gone 
out of doors, which he would not do, but sud- 
denly ran up stairs to Rothiemay's chamber, and 
wakened him to rise ; and as he was awakening 
him, the timber passage and lofting of the cham- 
ber hastily takes fire, so that none of them could 
win down stairs again ; so they turned to a win- 
dow looking to the close, where they piteously 
cried many times, " Help ! help ! for God's 
cause !" The Laird and Lady, with their ser- 
vants, all seeing and hearing the woeful crying, 
made no help or manner of helping; which 
they perceiving, cried oftentimes mercy at God's 
hands for their sins ; syne clasped in each other's 
arms, and cheerfully suffered their martyrdom. 
Thus died this noble Viscount of singular expec- 
tation, Rothiemay, a brave youth, and the rest, 
by this doleful fire, never enough to be deplored, 
to the great grief and sorrow of their kin, pa- 
rents, and hail common people, especially to the 
noble Marquis, who for his good will got this re- 




ward. No man can express the dolour of him 
and his lady, nor yet the grief of the Viscount's 
own dear lady, when it came to her ears, which 
she kept to her dying day, disdaining after the 
company of men all her life-time, following the 
love of the turtle-dove. 

" ' It is reported that upon the morn after this 
woeful fire, the Lady Frendraught, daughter to 
the Earl of Sutherland, and near cousin to the 
Marquis, backed in a white plaid, and riding on 
a small nag, having a boy leading her horse, 
without any more in her company, in this pitiful 
manner she came weeping and mourning to the 
Bog, desiring entry to speak with my lord ; but 
this was refused ; so she returned back to her 
own house, the same gate she came, comfort- 
less.'— Spalding's History of the Troubles in 
Scotland. 

" Suspicion formed two theories regarding the 
cause of the fire of Frendraught. The first was, 
that the Laird had wilfully set fire to the tower, 
for the purpose of destroying the young Laird of 
Rothiemay. The other was, that it originated 
in the revengeful feelings of the Laird of Pit- 
caple. In the first theory there is extremely lit- 
tle probability. First, it could not have been 
premeditated; because the circumstance of 
Frendraught being accompanied home that day 
by Aboyne and Rothiemay, was entirely acci- 
dental. In the second place, there was no rea- 
son for Frendraught being inclined to murder 
Rothiemay, except that he grudged the pay- 
ment of the fifty thousand merks to his mothei ; 
while there was every reason for his being inclined 
rather to befriend a youth whom he had already 
injured by occasioning the death of his father. 
In the third place, all Frendraught's family 
papers, with much gold and silver, both io. 
money and plate, were consumed in the fire. 
And, in the fourth place, it is extremely impro- 
bable that any man of his rank should commit 
so deliberate and so atrocious an act of villainy. 
On the other hand, it seems by no means impro- 
bable that Pitcaple should have caused fire to Le 
set to" his enemy's house ; a mode of reprisal, 
which had been practised in the same district 
of country, as we have already seen, by a gen- 
tleman of only the preceding age. Pitcaple's 
men, moreover, had been heard to declare an 
intention of attempting some such enterprise 
against Frendraught; as was proved on the trial 
of a gentleman of the name of Meldrum, who 
was apprehended, condemned, and executed for 
• his alleged accession to their conspiracy.'' 



: 'g£/- 



=£=£ 



M, 



The eighteenth of October, 

A dismal tale to hear, 
How good Lord John and Rothiemay 

Were both burnt in the fire. 

When steeds were saddled, and weel bridled, 

And ready for to ride, 
Then out came she and fause Frendraught, 

Inviting them to bide. 

Said, '* Stay this nicht until ye sup, 

The morn until ye dine ; 
'Twill be a token of gude greement 

'Twixt your good lord and mine." 

w We'll turn again," said good Lord John. 

But, " No," said Rothiemay ; 
" My steed's trapann'd ; my bridle's broken ; 

I fear this day I'm fey." * 

When mass was sung, and bells were rung, 

And all men bound for bed, 
Then good Lord John and Rothiemay 

In one chamber were laid. 

They had not long cast off their clothes, 

And were but new asleep, 
When the weary smoke began to rise, 

Likewise the scorching heat. 

" O waken, waken, Rothiemay, 

O waken, brother dear ; 
And turn ye to our Saviour; 

There is strong treason here !" 

When they were dressed in their clothes, 

And ready for to boune, 
The doors and windows were all secured, 

The roof-tree burning down. 

He did bim to the wire window, 

As fast as he could gang ; 
Says, " Wae to the hands put in the stan- 
cheons, 

For out we'll never win !" 

When he stood at the wire window, 

Most doleful to be seen, 
He did espy her, Lady Frendraught, 

Who stood upon the green. 



Predestinated, or ordained to death. 



Cried, " Mercy, mercy ! Lady Frendraught ! 

Will ye not sink with sin ? 
For first ycur husband kill'd my father, 

And now you burn his son !" 

O then out spoke her, Lady Frendraught, 

And loudly did she cry, 
" It were great pitie for good Lord John, 

But none for Rothiemay. 
But the keys are casten in the deep draw- 
well — 

Ye cannot get away '"f 

The reek it rose, and the flame it flew, 

The fire augmented high, 
Until it came to Lord John's chamber window, 

And the bed wherein he lay. 

He lookit east, he lookit west, 

To see if any help was uigh; 
At length his little page he saw, 

Who to his lord did loudly cry. 

" Oh, loup ! oh, loup ! my dear master; 

Oh, loup ! and come to me : 
I'll catch you in my armis two; 

One foot I wili not flee. 

" Oh, loup, oh, loup ! ray dear master, 
Though the window's dreigh and high ; 

I'll catch you in my armis two; 
But Rothiemay may lie I" 

" The fi;h shall swim the flood nae mair, 
Nor the corn grow through the clay, 

Ere the fiercest fire that ever was kindled 
Twin me and Rothiemay. % 

" Eut I cannot loup, I cannot come, 

I cannot win to thee ; 
My heid's fast in the wire-window, 

And my feet's burning frae me ! 



f In corroboration of the ti uth of this part of 
the ballad, opposed as it is to probability, Mr 
Finlay mentions, as a fact of which he was in- 
formed by a person residing near Frendraught, 
that many years ago, when the well of the castle 
was cleared out, a bunch of keys was found at 
the bottom. — Chambers. 

$ So altered from the original, which ran 

thus :— 






G 



fl 



j&l 



" My eyes are seething in my head, 

My flesh roasting also ; 
My bowels are boiling with my blood ; 

I'm sinking in the low ! * 

" Take here the rings frae my white fingers, 

That are sae long and small ; 
And give them to my lady fair, 

Where she sits in her hall. 

" I cannot loup, I cannot come, 

I cannot loup to thee ; 
My earthly part is all consumed, 

My spirit but speiks thee!" 

"Wringing her hands, tearing her hair, 

His lady she was seen ; 
Who thus address'd his servant Gordon, 

As he stude on the green. 

" O wae be to you, Gecrge Gordon 

An ill death may you dee ! 
Sae safe and sound as ye stand there, 

And my lord bereaved from me !" 

" I bade him loup, I bade him come, 

1 bade him loup to me ; 
I'd catch him in my armis two, 

A foot I should not flee. 

" He threw me the rings from his white 
fingers, 

Which were sae long and small, 
To give to you his lady fair, 

Where you sit in your hall." 

Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay, 

O bonnie Sophia was her name ; 

Her waiting maid put on her clothes ; 
But I wat she tore them off again. 

And aft she cried, " Alas ! alas ! 

A sair heart's ill to win ; 
I wan a sair heart when I married him ; 

And this day its weel return'd again !" 



" The fish shall never swim the flood, 
Nor com grow through the clay, 

Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindled, 
Twin me and Kothiemay." — Chambers. 

* In the original, — 

*'la net that a woeful woe!" — Chambers. 



FRENNET HALL. 

[This is a modern ballad founded on the same 
subject as the preceding. It first appeared in 
Herd's Collection.] 

When Frennet Castle's ivied walls 
Through yellow leaves were seen, 

When birds forsook the sapless boughs, 
And bees the faded green; 

Then Lady Frennet, vengefu' dame, 

Did wander frae the ha', 
To the wide forest's dewie gloom, 

Among the leaves that fa'. 

Her page, the swiftest of her train, 

Had dumb a lofty tree, 
Whase branches to the angry blast 

Were soughing mourn fullie. 

He turn'd his een towards the path 

That near the castle lay, 
Where good Lord John and Rothiemay 

Were riding down the brae. 

Swift darts the eagle through the sky, 

When prey beneath is seen : 
As quickly he forgot his hold, 

And perch'd upon the grt-en. 

" O hie thee, hie thee, lady gay, 

Frae this dark wood awa' ! 
Some visitors of gallant mein 

Are hasting to the ha'." 

Then round she row'd her silken plaid, 

Her feet she did na spare, 
Until she left the forest's skirts 

A long bow-shot and mair. 

" O where, O where, my good Lord John, 

tell me where ye ride ? 
Within my castle-wall this nicht 

1 hope ye mean to bide. 

" Kind nobles, will ye but alicht, 

In yonder bower to stay, 
Soft ease shall teach you to forget 

The hardness of the way." 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



213 



" Forbear entreaty, gentle dame, 

How can we here remain ? 
Full well you know your husband deir 

Was by my father slain : 

" The thoughts of which with fell revenge, 

Within your bosom swell ; 
Enraged you've sworn that blood for blood 

Should this black passion quell." 

" fear not, fear not, good Lord John, 

That I will you betray, 
Or sue requital for a debt 

Which nature cannot pay. 

" Bear witness, a' ye powers on high! 

Ye lichts that 'gin to shine ! 
This nicht shall prove the sacred cord, 

That knits your faith and mine." 

The lady slie, with honey'd words, 

Enticed thir youths to stay; 
But the morning sun ne'er shone upon 

Lord John and Kothiemay. 



®|>je drag 3tik®tjn\ 

[Modern Ballad. — Sir Walter Scott. — 
" The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, 
regards a house, upon the barony of Gilmerton, 
near Laswade, in Mid-Lothian. This building, 
now called Gilmerton Grange, was originally 
named Burndale, from the following tragic ad- 
venture. The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of 
yore, to a gentleman, named Heron, who had 
one beautiful daughter. This young lady was 
seduced by the abbot of Newbottle, a richly en- 
dowed abbey, upon the banks of the South Esk, 
now a seat of the Marquis of Lothian. Heron 
came to the knowledge of this circumstance, 
and learned also, that the lovers carried on their 
guilty intercourse by the connivance of the lady's 
nurse, who lived at this house of Gilmerton 
Grange, or Burndale. He formed a resolution 
of bloody vengeance, undeterred by the supposed 
sanctity of the clerical character, or by the 
stronger claims of natural affection. Choosing, 
therefore, a dark and windy night, when the 
objects of his vengeance were engaged in a stolen 
interview, he set fire to a stack of dried thorns, 
and other combustibles, which he had caused to 



be piled against the house, and reduced to a pile 
of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all its in- 
mates. 

'* The scene, with which the ballad opens, was 
suggested by the following curious passage, ex- 
tracted from the life of Alexander Peden, one of 
the wandering and persecuted teachers of the 
sect of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles 
II. and his successor, James. This person .was 
supposed by his followers, and, perhaps, really 
believed himself, to be possessed of supernatural 
gifts ; for the wild scenes which they frequented, 
and the constant dangers, which were incurred 
through their proscription, deepened upon their 
minds the gloom of superstition, so general in 
that age. 

"' About the same time he (Peden) came to 
Andrew Normand's house, in the parish of Allo- 
way, in the shire of Ayr, being to preach at night 
in his barn. After he came in, he halted a little, 
leaning upon a chair-back, with his face covered; 
when he lifted up his head, he said, " There are 
in this house that I have not one word of salva- 
tion unto;" he halted a little again, saying, 
" This is strange, that the devil will not go out, 
that we may begin our work !" Then there was 
a woman went out, ill-looked upon almost all 
her life, and to her dying hour, for a witch, with 
many presumptions of the same. It escaped me, 
in the former passages, that John Muirhead 
(whom I have often mentioned) told me, that 
when he came from Ireland to Galloway, he was 
at family-worship, and giving some notes upon 
the Scripture, when a very ill-looking man came, 
and sat down within the door, at the back of 
the hallan (partition of the cottage:) immediate- 
ly he halted, and said, " There is some unhappy 
body just now come into this house. I charge 
him to go out, and not stop my mouth !" The 
person went out and he insisted (went on) yet he 
saw him neither come in nor go out.' — The Life 
and Prophecies of Mr Alexander Peden, late 
Minister of the Gospel at New Glenluce, in Gal- 
loway, Part II. § 26."] 

The pope he was saying the high, high mass, 

All on saint Peter's day, 
With the power to him given, by the saints in 

To wash men's sins away. [heaven, 

The pope he was saying the blessed mass, 

And the people kneel'd around, 
And from each man's soul his sins did pass, 
\ As he kiss'd the holy ground. 



2U 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



And all, among the crowded throng, 
Was still, both limb and tongue, 

While through vaulted roof, and aisles aloof, 
The holy accents rung. 

At the holiest word, he quiver'd for fear, 

And faulter'd in the sound — 
And, when he would the chalice rear, 

He dropp'd it on the ground. 

" The breath of one of evil deed 

Pollutes our sacred day ; 
He has no portion in our creed, 
No part in what I say. 

"A being whom no blessed word 

To ghostly peace can bring ; 
A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd, 

Recoils each holy thing. 

" Up ! up ! unhappy ! haste, arise ! 

My adjuration fear I 
I charge thee not to stop my voice, 

Nor longer tarry here !" 

Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd, 

In gown of sackcloth gray ; 
Far journeying from his native field, 

He first saw Rome that day. 

For forty days and nights, so drear, 

I ween he had not spoke, 
And, save with bread and water clear, 

His fast he ne'er had broke. 

Amid the penitential flock, 

Seem'd none more bent to pray ; 

But, when the holy father spoke, 
He rose and went his way. 

Again unto his native land, 

His weary course he drew, 
To Lothian's fair and fertile strand, 

And Pentland's mountains blue. 

His un blest feet his native seat, 

Mid Eske's fair woods, regain ; 
Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet 

Rolls to the eastern main. 

And lords to meet the pilgrim came, 

And vassals bent the knee ; 
For all mid Scotland's chiefs of fame, 

Was none more famed than he. 



And boldly for his country, still, 

In battle he had stood, 
Aye, even when, on the banks of Till, 

Her noblest pour'd their blood. 

Sweet are the paths, passing sweet '. 

By Eske's fair streams that run, 
O'er airy steep, through copeswood deep, 

Impervious to the sun. 

There the rapt poet's step may rove, 
And yield the muse the day; 

There beauty, led by timid love, 
May shun the tell-tale ray ; 

From that fair dome, where suit is paid, 

By blast of bugle free,* 
To Auchendinny's hazel glade,f 

And haunted Woodhouselee. $ 

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove, § 
And Roslin's rocky glen, |) 



* The barony of Pennycuick, the property of Sir 
George Clerk, Bart., is held by a singular tenure ; 
the proprietor being bound to sit upon a large rocky 
fragment, called the Buckstane, and wind three 
blasts of a horn, when the king shall come to 
hunt on the Borough Muir, near Edinburgh. 
Hence, the family have adopted, as their crest, 
a demi-forester proper, winding a horn, with the 
motto, " Free for a Blast." The beautiful man- 
sion-house of Pennycuick is much admired, both 
on account of the architecture and surrounding 
scenery. — Scott. 

f Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below 
Pennycuick, the present residence of the inge- 
nious H. Mackenzie, Esq. author of " The Man 
of Feeling," &c— Scott. 

£ For the traditions connected with this ruinous 
mansion, see the ballad of " Cadyow Castle." 
Scott. 

§ Melville Castle, the seat of the right honour- 
able Lord Melville, to whom it gives the title of 
viscount, is delightfully situated upon the Eske, 
near Lasswade. — Scott. 

|| The ruins of Roslin Castle, the baronial resi- 
dence of the ancient family of St Clair; the 
Cothic chapel, which is still in beautiful preser- 
vation, with the romantic and woody dell in 
which they are situated, belong to the right 
honourable the Earl of Rosslyn, the representa- 
tive of the former lords of Roslin.-sScort. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



215 



Dalkeith, which all the virtues love, * 
And classic Hawthornden ? f- 

Yet never a path, from day to day, 

The pilgrim's footsteps range, 
Save but the solitary way 

To Burndaie's ruin'd grange. 

A woeful place was that, I ween, 

As sorrow could desire ; 
For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling 
wall, 

And the roof was scathed with fire. 

It fell upon a summer's eve, 

While on Carnethy's head, 
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams 

Had streak'd the gray with red ; 

And the convent-bell did vespers tell, 

Newbottle's oaks among, 
And mingled with the solemn knell 

Our Ladye's evening song : 



* The village and castle of Dalkeith belonged, 
of old, to the famous Earl of Morton, but is now 
the residence of the noble family of Buccleuch. 
The park extends along the Eske, which is there 
joined by its sister stream, of the same name. 

Scott. 

f Hawthornden, the residence of the poet 
Drummond. A house, of more modern date, is 
inclosed, as it were, by the ruins of the ancient 
castle, and overhangs a tremendous precipice, 
upon the banks of the Eske, perforated by wind- 
ing caves, which in former times formed a re- 
fuge to the oppressed patriots of Scotland. 
Here Drummond received Ben Jonson, who 
journied from London, on foot, in order to visit 
him. The beauty of this striking scene has been 
much injured, of late years, by the indiscrimi- 
nate use of the axe. The traveller now looks in 
vain for the leafy bower, 

" Where Jonson sate in Drummond's social shade." 

Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its 
source, till it joins the sea at Musselburgh, no 
stream in Scotland can boast such a varied suc- 
cession of the most interesting objects, as well as 
of the most romantic and beautiful scenery. 

Scott. 



The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell, 

Came slowly down the wind, 
And on the pilgrim's ear they fell, 

As his wonted path he did find. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween he was, 

Nor ever rais'd his eye, 
Until he came to that dreary place, 

Which did all in ruins lie. 

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire, 

With many a bitter groan— 
And there was aware of a Gray Friar, 

Resting him on a stone. 

" Now, Christ thee save !" said the gray brother; 

" Some pilgrim thou seemest to be." 
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, 

Nor answer again made he. 

" come ye from east, or come ye from west, 
Or bring reliques from over the sea, 

Or come ye from the shrine of St James the 
divine, 
Or St John of Beverly ?" 

" I come not from the shrine of St James the 
divine, 

Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; 
I bring but a curse from our father the pope, 

Which for ever will cling to me." 

" Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so 1 

But kneel thee down by me, 
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin, 

That absolved thou may'st be." 

" And who art thou, thou gray brother, 

That I should shrive to thee, 
When he, to whom are given the keys of earth 
and heaven, 

Has no power to pardon me ?" 

"01 am sent from a distant clime, 

Five thousand miles away, 
And all to absolve a foul, foul crime, 

Done here 'tvvixt night and day." 

The pilgrim knesl'd him on the sand, 

And thus began his saye — 
When on his neck an ice-cold hand 

Did that gray brother laye. 






276 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



[Modern Version of an old Ballad.] 

" Will you gae to the Hielands, my jewel, wi' me ? 
Will ye gae with your true love the mountains to see ? 
It is healthy, dear lassie, to breathe the sweet air j 
An' to pu' the blaeberries in the forest sae fair !" 

" Wi' thee to the Hielands, love, I daurna gang ; 
The mountains are dreary, the journey is lang: 
I love this fair valley, an' sweet corn field, 
Mair than a' the blaeberries your wild forests yield." 

" O ! the Hielands are bonnie, when the heather's in bloom ; 
An' ilk strath, where you wander, smells sweet wi' perfume ; 
You may gather blaeberries ere summer be gone, 
And produce them at table when December comes on." 

Then out spake her father, a haughty auld maa ; — 
" Gae seek ye a mistress amang your ain clan ; 
We lo'e na the proffer, 'mang wild Hieland fells, 
O' your walth o' blaeberries, and blue heather bells ! 

" Come kilt up your plaidie, an' off owre the hill , 
The sight o' your Hieland face does me much ill ! 
I'll marry my daughter, and spare pennies too, 
On anither mair gentle an' likely than you." 

" My plaidie is broad, and has colours anew ; 
Gudeman, for your kindness, I'll leave it with you : 
The cauld days o' winter are harmless to me, 
When I get blinks o' love frae your sweet daughter's e'e. 

" My flocks are but scanty, my lodgings but bare ; 
And you that ha'e plenty, the mair ye can spare : 
Ye'll no send your lassie — your darling awa', 
A wife to the Hielands, wi' naething ava ?" 

Then off drew the father wi' her to advise : — 
" If ye think o' gaun wi' him you're surely not wise ! 
He's a rude Hieland fellow, as puir as a craw ; 
And the likest a cateran that ever I saw. 

" But if you determine his mistress to be, 
Ye'se get nought that I or your mither can gi'e ; 
Frae a' our possessions we bar you for aye, 
If aff to the Hielands wi' him you'll away." 

" Then keep, honoured father, whate'er you possess ; 

For all you say of him, I love him not less ; 

I value not riches, though tempting they be, 

If the wild Hieland hills are between him and me !" 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 2*7 

Awa' she's gane wi' him, in spite o' them a* — 
Awa' to a country her een never saw ; 
Owre broad moss an" mountain, on foot did she gang; 
And aye he said, " Lassie, think no' the road lang." 

The warm sun was shining, 'twas now afternoon ; 
The lassie grew weary, and fain wad sit down ; 
But he said, " Sweetest jewel, step onward wi' me, 
Ere saft fa's the gloaming at hame we maun be." 

" I'm flt-sair an' weary, my shoes are all rent ; 
Sae far ha'e we travell'd, I'm ready to faint ; 
And were it not, dearest, for your company, 
Amang the lang heather I'd lie down an' dee." 

" ! were there an out-house, a barn or a byre, 

And we lodged in either, it's a' I desire" — 

" Cheer up, my sweet lassie, we'll no tarry here ; 

Our ain woods an' steading we're now drawing near." 

As onward they wander'd they came to a grove, 
Where sheep out o' number a-feeding did rove ; 
And Allan stood musing his hirsels to see, 
But to her, his dear lassie, nae joy could they gi'e. 

A sprightly young laddie wi' green tartan trews, 
And twa' bonnie lassies were buchting his ewes ; 
They said, " Honoured master, fu' blessed may you be'. 
Baith you an' your leddy we lang look'd to see." 

" Bucht in the ewes, lassies, and gang your way hame ; 
I've brought ye a mistress — a gentle young dame; 
Although amang strangers she's bashfu' an' shy, 
Yet in my best chamber this night sail she lie." 

'Midst warmest o' welcome, she entered the ha', 
And sic a fine mansion she scarce ever s'aw ; 
Wi' ale an' gude whisky they drank her health roun', 
And they made her a bra' bed o' heather an' down. 

He led her neist morn to the hay field near by, 
And bade her look round her, far as she could spy : — 
" These lands and possessions are yours, love, for aye; 
And ye winna gang round them in a lang simmer day." 

" O Allan ! O, Allan ! why came ye to me ? 
Sure, I am unworthy your mistress to be '." 
" Look up, winsome lassie, ye needna think shame ; 
And call me not Allan, for Tandy's my name ! 



278 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 

" O, don't you remember at school long ago, 
Your hard-hearted father was ever my foe ? 
And most of my comrades dealt harshly with me • 
Yet was I respected and loved by thee. 

" Are you then my Sandy, whom I loved dear ? 
Why heard I not from you for many a year ? 
O, oft, faithfu' Sandy, wi' thinking on thee ! 
When others were sleeping, I ne'er closed an e'e." 

" Alas ! both my parents I lost when a child, 
And far from these valleys was I then exiled ; 
But years came, and plenty was showered upon me ; 
So I wish, dearest jewel ! to share it with thee. 






\ 



" We loved other dearly, with love let us end, 
While in innocent pleasure our days will we spend ; 
And again to your father together we'll go : 
It will ease the old farmer of trouble and woe.'' 

With man and maid-servants, to wait them upon, 
Away to the Lowlands again are they gone ; 
They drove to the window before they wad stand ; 
While down came the father wi' bonnet in hand. 

" Come keep on your bonnet, and don't let it fa' ; 
It sets not the peacock to bow to the craw !" 
" Forbear, gentle Sandy, an* dinna taunt me : 
My Jean's undeserving your leddy to be." 






m 



There's mirth i' the kitchen, delight on the green ; 
Sae pleased was the mother, tears blinded her e'en ; 
To make ilk ane happy, nae siller was spared ; 
An* now the auld farmer's a douce looking laird 



[Written on hearing the following traditional account of one of the many predatory incursions 
of the Cateran into the low country, during the time, as Ross says in his tale of " Helenore or the 
Fortunate Shepherdess," 



A party of these marauders from Lochaber, consisting of some forty or fifty men, having reached, 
on an autumn afternoon, the summit of a hill immediately above Glenesk, the most northerly 
parish in Forfarshire — seated themselves to take rest and refreshment, and to wait the fall of nighr 
before commencing the work of plunder : being observed by the shepherds from the neighbouring 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



2T9 



heights, the alarm was given, and by the evening the most effective men of the glen were in arms, 
and had met together for the protection of their property. After dark the Cateran descended and 
gave them battle, and in a short but severe skirmish which ensued five of the inhabitants were 
killed, and about ten of them taken prisoners, who with tne greater part of the cattle and sheep of 
the parish were driven to the Highlands. The parishioners never heard more of their flocks and 
herds ; but early in the following year the captives were permitted to return home— a ransom of 
fifteen merks having been paid for each man. It is said that a ballad, giving the above particulars 
more in detail, was long popular in the glen ; but nothing more is now remembered of it, except that 
each verse ended with the words " Lochaber no more."] 

Mountbattock,* how dark is the cloud on thy brow, 
How grateful its gloom to the valley below ; 
For the hand of the reaver has smitten so sore, 
The days of our mourning will never be o'er. — 
He came in the night — he has taken and slain 
The wale of our flocks, and the flower of our men— 
The maidens, the widows, and orphans deplore, 
And the hollow wind murmurs— Lochaber no more ! 



The fold now is silent, the sheiling is still, 

No herd in the valley, no flock on the hill ; 

No gay singing maiden a-milking the cows, 

No blythe whistling shepherd a-bughting the ewes. 

The sward of Gleneffockf is shining in red; 

The down of the thistle with crimson is dyed ; 

The bloom of the heather is steeping in gore — 

And the wild bee is humming — Lochaber no more I 



■ . 



* A high mountain on the north of Glenesk. 

t The place of combat. The last incursion of the Cateran took place about 1703. Their leader 
was John Macgregor, better known in the Low Country by the name of the " Red Bull of Bade- 
noch." He was a man of uncommon stature, strength, and daring, and with his gang was long 
the terror of Strathmore. The place of their attack was Fearn, a parish about ten miles south- 
west of Glenesk, and contiguous to the Grampians. The assault, as usual, was made by night, and 
so complete was the work of plunder that scarcely a single "hoof or horn" was left in the parish: 

The ploughman raise to yoke his team, 

The team was stoun awa' ; 
The maiden raise to milk her kye, 

But toom was ilka sta'. 

In the morning the parishioners assembled in the church-yard, having been called together by the 
ringing of the kirk bell, and learning from each other the extent of the depredation, they resolved to 
attempt recovering their property. Having procured arms, and chosen for their captain John 
Macintosh, farmer of Sedenberry, a bold active young man, they commenced pursuit, and after a 
chase of ten or twelve miles over high and rugged mountains, the thieves, with the sheep and cattle, 
were overtaken at a place called the Water of Saughs, where a furious skirmish ensued, in which 
Macgregor was killed. When their chief fell the Highlanders immediately fled, and from the 
want of a leader the band was broken up. The people of Fearn got possession again of all their 
property, but lost one of their men in the combat. 







M 



280 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



IGart Jftfaj&art, 



["The locality of this ballad, Barnisdale, 
will bring to the remembrance of the reader, 
tales of Eobin Hood and Little John, who, ac- 
cording to the testimony of that venerable chro- 
nicler, Andrew of Wyntown, 



Whether the ballad is originally the production 
of an English or a Scotch minstrel admits of 
question ; certain, however, it is, that it has 
been received into both countries at a pretty 
early period. Hearne in his preface to Gul. 
Neubrigiensis Historia, Oxon. 1719, Vol. I. page 
Ixx, mentions, that the Knight and Shepherd's 
daughter was well known in the time of Queen 
Elizabeth. In Fletcher's Pilgrim, Act 4, Scene 
2, a stanza of the same ballad is quoted. The 
English version of this ballad is given in the 
Reliques of English Poetry, Vol. III. There 
are various copies of it current in Scotland. 
The present version, obtained from recitation in 
one of the northern counties, is out of sight the 
most circumstantial and elaborated that has yet 
been printed. It possesses no small portion of 
humour, and appears to be of greater antiquity 
than the copy published in the Reliques. In 
one of the recited copies of this ballad, Earl 
Richard endeavours to shake the lady's convic- 
tion of his identity by using the same means as 
the Gaberlunzie man, who sang : — 

' 111 bow my leg, and crook my knee, 
And draw a black clout owre my e'e, 
A cripple or blind they will ca' me.' 

But the eyes of love were too sharp to be de- 
ceived by such witty devices, for as the ballad 
has it, when 



The lady, with a hasty voice, in the face of all 
the court, immediately cries out, 



With my low silver e'e.' 



Earl Richard's unbridegroom-like behaviour 
en his wedding night, and his agreeable dis- 



covery on the morrow, will remind the ballad 
reader of the gentle Sir Gawaine who, when re- 
luctantly turning round to caress his lothly 
bride, much to his joy and contentment found 
her transformed into a most lovesome lady." 

Motherwell.] 

Earl Richard once on a day, 

And all his valiant men so wight ; 

He did him down to Barnisdale, 

Where all the land is fair and light. 

He was aware of a damosel, 

I wot fast on she did her bound, 

With towers of gold upon her head, 
As fair a woman as could be found. 

He said, " Busk on you, fair ladye, 

The white flowers and the red ; 
For I would give my bonnie ship, 

To get your maidenhead." 

" I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive, 

And drown you in the sea ; 
For all this would not mend the miss, 

That ye would do to me." 
" The miss is not so great ladye, 

Soon mended it might be. 

" I have four-and-twenty mills in Scotland 

Stand on the water Tay ; 
You'll have them and as much flour 

A3 they'll grind in a day." 

" I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive, 

And drown you in the sea; 
For all that would not mend the miss, 

That ye would do for me." 
" The miss is not so great lady, 

Soon mended it will be. 

" I have four-and-twenty milk white cows 

All calved in a day ; 
You'll have them and as much hained grass, 

As they all on can gae." 

,f I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive, 

And drown ye in the sea; 
For all that would not mend the miss, 

That ye would do to me." 
" The miss is not so great ladye, 

Soon mended it might be. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



281 



"I have four-and -twenty milk white steeds, 

All foaled in one year ; 
You'll have them and as much red gold, 

As all their backs can bear." 

She turned her right and round about, 

And she swore by the mold, 
" I would not be your love," said she, 

" Tor that church full of gold." 

He turned him right and round about, 

And he swore by the mass, 
Says, " Lady, ye my love shall be, 

And gold ye shall bave less." 

She turned her right and round about, 

And she swore by the moon, 
" I would not be your love," says she, 

" For all the gold in Home." 

He turned him right and round about, 

And he swore by the moon, 
Says, " Lady, ye my love sball be, 

And gold ye sball have none." 

He caught her by the milk-white hand, 

And by the grass-green sleeve ; 
And there has taken his will of her, 

Wholly without her leave. 

The lady frowned and sadly blushed, 
And oh ! but she thought shame ; 

Says, " If you are a knight at all, 
Tou surely will tell me your name." 

" In some places they call me Jack, 
In other some they call me John ; 

But when into the queen's court, 
Oh then Lithcock it is my name." 

" Lithcock ! Lithcock !" the lady said, 
And oft she spelt it over again ; 

" Lithcock ! it's Latin," the lady said, 
" Richard's the Engbsh of that name." 

The knight be rode, the lady ran, 

A live long summer's day ; 
Till they came to the wan water, 

That all men do call Tay. 

He set his horse head to the water, 

Just through it for to ride ; 
And tbe lady was as ready as him, 

The waters for to wade. 



For he had never been as kind hearted, 

As to bid the lady ride ; 
And she had never been so low hearted, 

As for to bid him bide. 

But deep into the wan water 
There stands a great big stone ; 

He turned bis wight horse head about, 
Said, " Lady fair, will ye loup on .-"' 

She's taken the wand was in her hand, 

And struck it on the foam, 
And before he got the middle stream, 

The lady was on dry land. 
" By the help of God and our Lady, 

My help lyes not in your hand." 

" I learned it from my mother dear, 
Few is there that has learned better; 

When I came to a deep water, 

I can swim through like ony otter. 

" I learned it from my mother dear, 
I find I learned it for my weel ; 

When I came to a deep water, 
I can swim through like ony eel." 

" Turn back, turn back, you lady fair, 

You know not wbat I see ; 
There is a lady in that castle, 

That will burn you and me." 
" Betide me weal, betide me wae, 

That lady will I see." 

She took a ring from her finger, 
And gave't the porter for bis fee; 

Says, " Tak' you that, my good porter, 
And bid the queen speak to me." 

And when she came before the queen, 

There she fell low down on her knee- 
Says, " There is a knigbt into your court, 
This day has robbed me." 

" Oh, has he robbed you of your gold, 
Or has he robbed you of your fee ? " 

" He has not robbed me of my gold, 
He has not robbed me of my fee ; 

He has robbed me of my maidenhead, 
The fairest flower of my bodie." 

" There is no knight in all my court, 

That thus has robbed thee ; 
But you'll have the truth of his right hand. 

Or else for your sake he'll dee ; 




SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Though it were Earl Richard my own brother, •& 

And oh i forbid that it be ;" 
Then, sighing, said fche lady fair, 

"I wot the samen man is he," 

The queen called on ber merry men, 

Even fifty men and three ; 
Earl Richard used to be the first man, 

But now the hindmost was he. 

He's taken cut one hundred pounds, 

And told it in his glove ; 
Says, " Tak' you that, my lady fair, 

And seek another love." 

" Oh no, oh no," the lady cried, 

" That's what shall never be ; 
I'll have the truth of your right hand, 

The queen it gave to me." 

" I wish I had drunk of your water, sister, 

When I did drink your wine ; 
That for a carle's fair daughter, 

It does gar me dree all this pine." 

" May be I am a carle's daughter, 

And may be never nane ; 
When ye met me in the green wcod, 

Why did you not let me alane ?" 

" Will you wear the short clothes, 

Or will you wear the side, 
Or will you walk to your wedding, 

Or will you till it ride ?" 

" I will not wear the short clothes, 

But I will wear the side ; 
I will not walk to my wedding, 

But I to it will ride." 

When he was set upon the horse, 

The lady him behind ; 
Then cauld and eerie were the words, 

The twa had them between. 

She said, " Good een, ye nettles tall, 
Just there where ye grow at the dike, 

If the auld carlin my mother was here, 
Sae weel's she would your pates pike. 

" How she would stap you in her poke, 

I wot at that she wadna fail; 
And boil ye in her auld brass pan, 

And of ye mak' right gude kail. 




" And she would meal you with millering, 

That she gathers at the mill ; 
And mak' you thick as any daigh, 

And when the pan was brimful 

" Would mess you up in scuttle dishes, 
Syne bid us sup till we were fou, 

Lay down her head upon a poke, 

Then sleep and snore like any sow." 

"Away! away! you bad woman, 

For all your vile words grieveth me; 
When ye heed so little for yourself, 
. I'm sure ye'll heed far less for me. 

" I wish I had drunk your water, sister, 
When that I did drink of your wine ; 

Since for a carle's fair daughter, 
It aye gars me dree all this pine." 

" May be I am a carle's daughter, 

And may be never nane ; 
When ye met me in the good green wood, 

Why did you not let me alane ? 

" Gude e'en, gude e'en, ye heather berries, 
As ye're growing on yon hill ; 

If the auld carle and his bags were here, 
I wot he would get meat his fill. 

" Late, late, at night I knit our pokes, 
With even four-and-twenty knots ; 

And in the morn at breakfast time, 
I'll carry the keys of an earl's locks. 

" Late, late, at night I knit our pokes, 
With even four-and-twenty strings ; 

And if you look to my white fingers, 
They have as many gay gold rings." 

" Away ! away ! ye ill woman, 

And sore your vile words grieveth me ; 
When you heed so little for yourself, 

I'm sure ye'll heed far less for me. 

" But if you are a carle's daughter, 

As I take you to be ; 
How did you get the gay clothing, 

In greenwood ye had on thee ?" 

"My mother she's a poor woman, 
She nursed earl's children three ; 

And I get them from a foster sister, 
For to beguile such sparks as thee." 






\ -^- ' ' -* ^ '-- - - J§| 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



233 



" But if you be a carle's daughter, 

As I believe you be ; 
How did you learn the good Latin, 

In green wood ye spoke to me ?" 

" My mother she's a mean woman, 

She nursed earl's children three ; 
I learned it from their chapelain, 

To beguile such sparks as ye." 

"When mass was sung, and bells were rung, 

And all men boune for bed ; 
Then Earl Richard and this Ladye, 

In ane bed they were laid. 

He turned his face to the stock, 

And she hers to the stane ; 
And cauld and dreary was the luve, 

That was thir twa between. 

Great was the mirth in the kitchen, 

Likewise intill the ha' ; 
But in his bed lay Earl Richard, 

Wiping the tears awa*. 

He wept till he fell fast asleep, 

Then slept till licht was come ; 
Then he did hear the gentlemen 

That talked in the room. 

Said, " Saw ye ever a fitter match, 

Betwixt the ane and ither ; 
The king o' Scotland's fair dochter, 

And the queen of England's brither." 

" And is she the king of Scotland's fair dochter ? 

This day, oh, weel is me ! 
For seven times has my steed been saddled, 

To come to court with thee ; 
And with this witty lady fan', 

How happy must I be!" 



[From the Bannatyne MS., in the Advocates' 
Library, Edinburgh.] 

Quhen he wes zung, and cled in grene, 
Haifand his air about his ene, 
Baith men and wemen did him mene, 
Quhen he grew on zon hillis he ; — 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 



His fostir faider fure of the toun, 
To vissy Allane he maid him boun ; 
He saw him lyane, allace ! in swoun 
For fait of help, and lyk to de ;— 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 

Thay saw his heid begin to ryfe ; 
Syne for ane nureiss thay send belyfe, 
Quha brocht with hir fyfty-and-fyve 
Of men of war full prevely ; — ■ 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 

Thay ruschit furt lyk hellis rukis, 
And every ane of yame had hukis ; 
They caut him shortly in your clukis, 
Syne band him in ane creddill of tre;— 
Quhy sowld not Allan honorit be ? 

Thay brot him invart in the land, 
Syne every freynd maid him his band, 
Quhill they might owdir gang or stand, 
Never ane fute fra him to fie ; — 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 

The grittest cowart in this land, 
Ffra he with Allane enter in band, 
Thot he may nowdir gang nor stand, 
Zet fourty sail not gar him fle ; — 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 

Sir Allanis hewmond is ane cop, 
With an sege feddir in his top ; 
Fra hand to hand so dois he hop, 
Quhill sum may nowdir speik nor se; — 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 

In zule, quhen ilk man singis his carrell, 
Gude Allane lyis in to ane barrell ; 
Quhen he is thair, he dowtis ne parrell 
To cum on him be land or se ; — 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 

Zet wes yair nevir sa gay ane gallane, 
Fra he meit with our maister Sir Allane, 
Bot gif he hald him by ye hallane, 
Bak wart on the flure fallis he ; — 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 

My maistir Allane grew so stark, 
Quhill he maid mony cunning clerk ; 
TJpoun yair faisis he settis his mark, 
A blud reid nois besyd ye e ;— 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 



(cQ 






98 



Z&& 










284 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



My maistir Allane I may sair curs ; 
He levis no mony in my purs ; 
At his command I mon deburs 
Moir nor ye twa pt. of my fe ; — 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 

And last, of Allane to conclude j 
He is bening, courtas, and gude, 
And servis ws of our daly fude, 
And that with liberalise ; — 
Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? 



ALLAN O' MAUT. 

[From a copy furnished to Mr Jamieson's 
Collection by the Reverend William Gray of 
Lincoln.] 

Gude Allan o' Maut was ance cad Bear, 
And he was cadged frae wa' to wear, 
And dragglet wi' muck, and syne wi' rain, 
Till he diet, and cam' to life again. 

He first grew green, syne he grew white, 
Syne a' men thocht that he was ripe ; 
And wi! crookit gullies and hafts o' tree 
They've hew'd him down right douchtilie. 

Syne they've set Allan up into stooks, 
And casten on him mony pleasant looks; 
They've turss'd him up syne on a sled, 
Till in the grain-yard they made his bed- 
Then men clamb up upon a ladder, 
And happit his head frae wind and weather ; 
They've ta'en him neist up in their arms, 
And made his shak-down in the barns. 

The hollin souples, that were sae snell, 
His back they loundert, mell for mell ; 
Mell for mell, and baff for baff, 
Till his hide flew about his lugs like caff. 

Then in cam' Jennie wi' her riddle, 
And she gae mony a fike and fiddle ; 
Set up the doors, loot in the win', 
To see what faucity fell frae him. 

They stow'd him up intill a seek, 

And o'er the horse back brook his neck; 

Syne bristled they him upon the kill, 

Till he was bane dry for the mill. < 



They cowpit him then into the hopper, 
And brook his banes, gnipper for gnopper; 
Syne put the burn untill the gleed, 
And leepit the een out o' his head. 

Till in cam' Barmy-breeks, his brither, 
Like ae gude neiber to crack wi' anither ; 
Says, " Allan o' Maut, are ye gaun to dee ? 
Rise up man, first, and dance wi' me." 

They danced about frae hand to hand, 
Till they danced o'er the working stand ; 
Syne in cam' Jennie wi' her dish, 
She gae mony a rummle and rush. 

And Uskie-bae ne'er bure the bell * 
Sae bald as Allan bure himsel' ; 
Nor ever got his pride a fa', 
Till carlies piss'd him at the wa'. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

[Given by Mr Jamieson from his own recol- 
lection, as he learned it in Morayshire when he 
was a boy, and before the Poems of Burns were 
published. The two concluding stanzas are by 
Mr Jamieson.] 

There came three merry men from the east, 

And three merry men they be ; 
And they have sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn shall dee. 

They've ta'en a plough and plough'd him down, 

Put clods upon his head ; 
And they have sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the spring-time it came on at last, 

And showers began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn's sprung up again, 

Which did surprise them all. 



* Bearing the bell seems here to have a double 
meaning. The bell is the collection of bubbles 
that float on the surface of whisky, as froth does 
on ale, &c, when poured out ; and to bear the bell 
well, is accounted a good sign in whisky. This 
sign, however, is very deceitful, as it may be pro- 
duced without the assistance of Allan o' Maut. 

Jamieson. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



285 



Then the summer heat on him did beat, 

And he grew pale and wan ; 
John Barleycorn has got a beard 

Like any other man. 

They've ta'en a hook, that was full sharp, 

And cut him above the knee ; 
And they've bound him intill a corn cart, 

Like a thief for the gallow-tree. 

They've ta'en twa sticks, that were full stout, 

And sore they beat his bones ; 
The miller used him worse than that, 

And ground him between two stones. 

The browster-wife we'll not forget ; 

She well her tale can tell ; 
She's ta'en the sap out of his bodie, 

And made of it good ale. 

And they have fill'd it in a cap, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And ay the man: they drank o* it, 
The mair did joy abound. 

John Barleycorn is the wightest man 

That ever throve in land ; 
For he could put a Wallace down 

Wi' the turning of his hand. 

He'll gar the huntsman shoot his dog ; 

His gold a miser scorn ; 
He'll gar a maiden dance stark-naked 

Wi' the tooming of a horn. 

He'll change a man into a boy, 

A boy into an ass ; 
He'll change your gold into silver, 

And your silver into brass. 

And here we have his very heart-blood, 

Sae bizzing bright and brown ; 
And ay we'll birl the tither stoup, 

And ay we'll bend it roun'. 

And ye will drink a health to me, 

And I'll drink ane to you; 
For he never misses health or wealth 

That wi' Johny's blood is fu\ 



[From the Border Minstrelsy.] 

wha. wad wish the wind to blaw, 
Or the green leaves fa' therewith , J 

Or wha wad wish a lealer love 
Than Brown Adam the Smith ? 






But they ha'e banish'd him, Brown Adam, 

Frae father and frae mother ; 
And they ha'e banish'd him, Brown Adam, 

Frae sister and frae brother. 

And they ha'e banish'd him, Brown Adam, 

The flower o' a' his kin ; 
And he's bigged a bour in gude green- 
wood 

Atween his ladye and him. 

It fell upon a summer's day, 
Brown Adam he thought lang ; 

And, for to hunt some .venison, 
To greenwood he wald gang. 

He has ta'en his bow his arm o'er, 

His bolts and arrows lang ; 
And be is to the gude greenwood 

As fast as he could gang. 

he's shot up, and he's shot doun, 

The bird upon the brier ; 
And he sent it hame to his ladye, 

Bade her be of gude cheir. 

O he's shot up, and he's shot doun, 

The bird upon the thorn ; 
And sent it hame to his ladye, 

Said he'd be hame the morn. 

When he cam' to his ladye's bour door, 

He stude a little forbye, 
And there he heard a fou fause knight 

Tempting his gay ladye. 

For he's ta'en out a gay goud ring, 

Had cost him mony a poun' ; 
" O grant me love for love, ladye, 

And this shall be thy own.'' 



286 



SCOTTISH BALLADS, 



" I lo'e Brown Adam weel," she said, 

*' I trew sae does he me ; 
I wadna gi'e Brown Adam's love 

For nae fause knight I see." 

Out has he ta'en a purse o' gowd, 

Was a' fou to the string ; 
" O grant me love for love, ladye, 

And a' this shall be thine." 

"I lo'e Brown Adam weel," she says, 

" I wot sae does he me ; 
I wadna be your light leman, 

For mair than ye could gi'e." 

Then out he drew his lang bright brand, 

And flash'd it in her een ; 
" Now grant me love for love, ladye, 

Or through ye this shall gang!" 
Then, sighing, says that ladye fair, 

" Brown Adam tarries lang !" 

Then in and starts him, Brown Adam, 
Says, " I'm just at your hand." 

He's gar'd him leave his bonnie bow, 
And gar'd him leave his brand ; 

He's gar'd him leave a dearer pledge, — 
Four fingers o* his right hand ! 



[Early in the seventeenth century, when the 
Lindsays of Ecbzell, a branch of the great Angus 
clan of that name, resided at Ecbzell Castle, 
the family then consisted, says the tradition on 
which the following verses are founded, of two 
brothers and their sister lady Jane, who it is said 
was very beautiful and highly accomplished. 
Among her many suitors was young Lord Spynie, 
a distant relation of her own ; but having gained 
her affections, he seduced and deserted her. 
Her elder brother, determined on revenging her 
wrongs, sought every opportunity of meeting the 
false lord. Sometime after he met him on the 
High Street of Edinburgh, and having told him 
that all the blood in his body could not wash 
out the stain in his sister's character, he plunged 
a dagger into his heart, and though the deed 
was done in open day and in the presence of 
several persons, he was allowed to escape home. 



4ft On the following day a party of soldiers were 
sent to apprehend and bring him to justice, but 
on hearing of their approach, he removed from 
Ecbzell with a considerable number of adherents, 
to his castle of Glenmark, a building of some 
strength, and situated nearly in the centre of 
the Grampian mountains, where he proposed 
defending himself. This scheme, however, he 
abandoned when the military made their appear- 
ance, and dismissing his followers, he assumed 
the dress of a peasant, and fled to the northern 
isles of Scotland, where it is said he died in ob- 
scurity and want. What became of his sister 
tradition makes no mention. The lands of Ecb- 
zell were forfeited in 1716 by the adherence of the 
Lindsays to the house of Stewart, and are now 
the property of the Eight Honorable Lord Pan- 
mure.] 

Lord Spynte,* ye may pu' the rose, 

An' spare the lily flower, 
When ye gae through the garden green 

To woo in ladye bower ; 

And ye may pu' the lightsome thyme, 

Aii' leave the lonesome rue; 
For lang and sair will the ladye mourn 

That ye gae there to woo ! 

For ye will look an' talk of luve, 

An' kindly, kindly smile, 
An' vow by grace, an' a* that's gude, 

An' lay the luring wile. 

'Tis sair to rob the bonnie bird 

That makes you melodie ; 
'Tis cruel to win a woman's luve, 

An' no ha'e luve to gi'e ! 

I wadna ha'e your wilfu' hand 
Though a' the earth were thine ; 

Ye've broken many a maiden's peace, 
Ye've mair than broken mine. 

I wadna ha'e your faithless heart, 

'Tis no your ain to gi'e ; 
But gin ye ever think o' heaven, 

Oh ! ye maun think o' me ! 

* This title has been dormant since the death 
of George, third lord, in 1672. 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 287 



[This ballad was published by Dr Percy, from 
a manuscript which was transmitted to him, 
from Scotland, by Sir David Dalrymple (Lord 
Hailes). From the source whence it proceeded, 
it was in all probability written by Lady Ward- 
law.] 

" Why does your brand sae drap wi' blude, 

Edward, Edward ? 
Why does your brand sae drap wi' blude, 

And why sae sad gang ye, O ?" 
" 0, I ha'e killed my hawk sae gude, 

Mother, mother ; 
0, I ha'e killed my hawk sae gude ; 
And I ha'e nae mail' but he, O." 

" Your hawk's blude was never sae red, 

Edward, Edward ; 
Your hawk's blade was never sae red, 

My dear son, I tell thee, O." 
" O, I ha'e killed my red-roan steed, 

Mother, mother ; 
O, I ha'e killed my red-roan steed, 
That was sae fair and free, O.'- 

" Your steed was auld, and ye ha'e gat mair, 

Edward, Edward ; 
Your steed was auld, and ye ha'e gat mair ; 

Some other dule ye drie, 0." 
"01 ha'e killed my father dear, 

Mother, mother; 
O, I ha'e killed my father dear, 
Alas ! and woe is me, !" 

" And whatten penance will ye drie for that, 

Edward, Edward ? 
And whatten penance will ye drie for that ? 

My dear son, now tell me, 0." 
" I'll set my feet in yonder boat, 

Mother, mother ; 
I'll set my feet in yonder boat, 

And I'll fare over the sea, 0." 

" And what will ye do wi' your touirs and your 

Edward, Edward ? [ha', 

And what will ye do wi' your touirs and your 

That were sae fair to see, O ?" [ha', 

"I'll let them stand till they doun fa', 

Mother, mother ; 
I'll let them stand till they doun fa' ; 

For here never mair maun I be, 0." 



fe"And what will ye leave to your bairns and 
your wife, 

Edward, Edward ? 

j And what will ye leave to your bairns and 

your wife, 

"When ye gang ower the sea, ?" 

j " The warld's room : let them beg through life, 

Mother, mother ; 
j The warld's room : let them beg through life ; 
For them never mair will I see, 0." 

"And what will you leave to your ain mother 

Edward, Edward ? [dear, 

And what will you leave to your ain mother dear . J 

My dear son, now tell me, 0." 
" The curse of hell frae me ye sail beir, 

Mother, mother ; 
The curse of hell frae me ye sail beir ; 
Sic counsels ye gave to me, !" 






SON DAYIE, SOX DAVIE. 

[From Motherwell's Collection, where it is 
said to be given from the recitation of an old 
woman.] 

" What bluid's that on thy coat lap ? 

Son Davie ! son Davie ! 
What bluid's that on thy coat lap ? 

And the truth come tell to me, O." 

" It is the bluid of my great hawk, 

Mother lady ! mother lady ! 
It is the bluid of my great hawk, 

And the truth I ha'e tald to tnee, 0." 

" Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red, 

Son Davie ! son Davie ! 
Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red, 

And the truth come tell to me, 0." 

" It is the bluid o' my grey hound, 

Mother lady ! mother lady ! 
It is the bluid o' my grey hound, 

And it wudna rin for me, 0." 

" Hound's bluid was ne'er sae red, 

Son Davie ! son Davie ! 
Hound's bluid was ne'er sae red, 

And the truth come tell to me, 0."" 









288 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" It is the bluid o' my brother John, 

Mother lady ! mother lady ! 
It is the bluid o' my brother John, 

And the truth I ha'e tald to thee, O." 

" What about did the plea begin ? 

Son Davie ! son Davie !" 
<e It began about the cutting o' a willow 
wand, 

That would never ha'e been a tree, 0." 

" What death dost thou desire to die ? 

Son Davie ! son Davie ! 
What death dost thou desire to die ? 

And the truth come tell to me, 0." 

" I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship, 

Mother lady ! mother lady ! 
I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship, 

And ye'll never see mair o' me, O." 

" What will't thou leave to thy poor wife ? 

Son Davie ! son Davie !" 
" Grief and sorrow all her life, 

And she'll never get mair frae me, O." 

" What will't thou leave to thy auld son ? 

Son Davie ! son Davie J" 
" The weary warld to wander up and down, 

And he'll never get mair o' me, 0." 

" What will't thou leave to thy mother dear ? 

Son Davie ! son Davie i" 
" A fire o' coals to burn her wi' hearty 
cheer, 

And she'll never get mair o' me, O." 



[" The beautiful air of Cowdenknows is well 
known and popular. In Ettrick Forest the fol- 
lowing words are uniformly adapted to the 
tune, and seem to be the original ballad. An 
edition of this pastoral tale, differing considera- 
bly from the present copy, was published by Mr 
Herd, in 1772. Cowdenknows is situated upon 
the river Leader, about four miles from Melrose, 
and is now the property of Dr Hume." — Min- 
strelsy of the Scottish Border.] 



O the broom, and the bonnie bonnie broom. 
And the broom of the Cowdenknows ! 

And aye sae sweet as the lassie sang, 
1' the bought, milking the ewes. 

The hills were high on ilka side, 

An' the bought i' the lirk o' the hill, 

And aye, as she sang, her voice it rang, 
Out o'er the head o' yon hill. 

There was a troop o' gentlemen 

Came riding merrilie by, 
And one of them has rode out of the way, 

To the bought to the bonnie may. 

" Weel may ye save an' see, bonnie lass, 

An' weel may ye save an' see." 
" An' sae wi' you, ye weel -bred knight, 

And what's your will wi' me ?" 

" The night is misty and mirk, fair may, 

And I have ridden astray, 
And will you be so kind, fair may, 

As come out and point my way ?" 

" Ride out, ride out, ye ramp rider ! 

Your steed's baith stout and Strang ; 
For out of the bought I darna come, 

For fear 'at ye do me wrang." 

" O winna ye pity me, bonnie lass, s 

O winna ye pity me ? 
An' winna ye pity my poor steed, 

Stands trembling at yon tree?" 

" I wadna pity your poor steed, 
Though it were tied to a thorn ; 

For if ye wad gain my love the night, 
Ye wad slight me ere the morn. 

" For I ken you by your weel-busked hat, 
And your merrie twinkling e'e, 

That ye're the laird o' the Oakland hills, 
An' ye may weel seem for to be." 

" But I am not the laird o' the Oakland hills, 

Ye're far mista'en o' me ; 
But I'm ane o' the men about his house, 

An' right aft in his companie." 

He's ta'en her by the middle jimp, 

And by the grass -green sleeve ; 
He's lifted her over the fauld dyke* 

And speer'd at her sma' leave. 



O he's ta'en out a purse o' gowd, 

And streek'd her yellow hair, 
" Now, take ye that, my bonnie may, 

Of me till you hear mair." 

he's leapt on his berry-brown steed, 
An' soon he's o'erta'en his men ; 

And ane and a' cried out to hLn, 
" master, ye've tarry'd long !" 

"01 ha'e been east, and I ha'e been west, 
An' I ha'e been fiir o'er the know, 

But the bonniest lass tbat ever I saw 
Is i' the bought milking the ewes." 

She set the cog upon her head, 
An' she's gane singing hame — 

" O where ha'e ye been, my ae daughter ? 
Ye ha'e na been your lane." 

" nae body was wi' me, father, 

nae body has been wi' me ; 
The night is misty and mirk, father, 

Ye may gang to the door and see. 

" But wae be to your ewe-herd, father, 

And an ill deed may he dee ; 
He bug the bought at the back o' the know, 

And a tod has frighted me. 

" There came a tod to the bought-door, 

The like I never saw ; 
And ere he had tane the Iamb he did, 

1 had lourd he had ta'en them a*." 

O whan fifteen weeks was come and gane, 

Fifteen weeks and three, 
That lassie began to look thin and pale, 

An' to long for his merry twinkling e'e. 

It fell on a day, on a het simmer day, 
She was ca'ing out her father's kye, 

By came a troop o' gentlemen, 
A' merrilie riding bye. 

" Weel may ye save an' see, bonnie may, 

Weel may ye save and see ! 
Weel I wat, ye be a very bonnie may, 

But whae's aught that babe ye are wi' ?" 

Never a word could that lassie say, 
For never a ane could she blame, 

An' never a word could the lassie say, 
But, " I have a good man at hame." 



"Ye lied, ye lied, my very bonnie may, 

Sae loud as I hear you lie ; 
For dinna ye mind that misty night 

I was i' the bought wi' thee ? 



" I ken you by your middle sae jimp, 

An' your merry twinkling e'e, 
That ye're the bonnie lass i' the Cowdenknows, 

And ye may weel seem for to be." 






Then he's leapt off his berry-brown steed, 
An' he's set that fair may on — 

" Ca' out your kye, gude father, yoursel', 
For she's never ca' them out again. 

" I am the laird of the Oakland hills, 
I ha'e thirty plows and three ; 

An' I ha'e gotten the bonniest lass 
That's in a' the south country." 



[From Buchan's Collection.] 

Far in yon Isles beyond Argyle, 

Where flocks and herds were plenty, 

Liv'd a rich heir, whose sister fair 
Was flower ower a' that country. 

A knight, Sir Niel, had woo'd her lang, 

Intending for to marry; 
But when she saw the young G-lengyle, 

He wan her heart entirely. 

Then tidings to her brother came, 

Sir Niel had boasted proudly, 
In favours of his sister fair, 

This made him to swear roudly. 

Swearing for all the friendship past, 

If ance he saw the morning, 
This knight by him should breathe his last, 

Or make him rue his scorning. 



Down on yon shore where wild waves roar, Aa_J 

A challenge he did send him ; 
Before the sun, these two men met, 

Nae seconds to attend them. 









/-(SU 



' What ails, what ails my dearest friend ? 

Why want you to destroy me ?" 
" I want nae flattery from Sir Niel, 

TJnsheath your sword and try me." 

" I will not fight with you, Mac Van, 

You never me offended ; 
And if I aught to you have done, 

I'll own my fault, and mend it." 

" Does this become so brave a knight ? 

Does blood sae much surprise you? 
And if you do refuse to fight, 

I'll like a dog chastise you." 

" 0, foolish man don't tempt your fate, 
Nor don't presume to strike me; 

Remember nane in fair Scotland 

Can wield the broad-sword like me." 

" The sword, you say, can handle well, 

And boasteth very boldly ; 
Your boasting is set off with skill, 
Your actions seem but cowardly." 



He being mad at this abuse, 
A furious stroke he darted, 

Into the breast of bold Mac Van, 
Who with a groan departed. 

" Curse on my skill, what have I done ? 

Hash man, but you would have it, 
To force a friend to take thy life, 

Who would lose blood to save it ! 






• / 



" Now, woe is me, for this I die, 
And now it cannot be mended; 

That happiness that was sae nigh, 
By one rash stroke is ended. 

" But I'll exile to some foreign isle, 
To fly I know not whither; 

1 darena face my bonnie Ann, 
When 1 ha'e slain her brither." 

Then casting round a mournful eye, 
To see that nane was nigh him ; 

There he saw the young Glengyle, 
Who like the wind came flying. 

" I've come too late to stop the strife, 
But since you've been victorious, 

Upon your life I'll be reveng'd, 
My honour bids me do this." 



Then with Glengyle he did enclose, 
Not meaning for to harm him ; 

And thrice with wounds he did him pierce, 
Yet he could scarce discern them. 

" Yield up your sword to me, Glengyle, 
Our quarrel's honour founded ; 

I could ha'e pierc'd thy dauntless breast, 
Three times I have you wounded." 

Then saying so, he quit his ground, 

Glengyle with this advanced, 
And pierc'd the heart of brave Sir Niel 

Till the spear behind him glanced. 

Then falling down, he cried, "I'm slain. 

Adieu to all things earthly ! 
Farewell, Glengyle, the day's your ain, 

But ye ha'e won it basely." 

When tidings came to Lady Ann, 
Times after times she fainted ; 

She ran and kiss'd their clay-cold lips, 
And thus her case lamented : — 

" thou the guardian of my youth, 

My young, my only brother, 
Alas ! for thy untimely end, 

I'll mourn till life is over ! 

" And thou, my love, why wast thou slain, 

All in thy youthful blossom ; 
Nae mair I'll love that treach'rous man, 

That pierc'd thy manly bosom. 

" Thou tender-hearted wast and true, 

Thy honour's been abused; 
A braver man ne'er faced a foe, 

Had you been fairly used. 

" For you a maid I'll live and die, 
Glengyle shall ne'er espouse me ; 

Till seven years are come and gane, 
The dowie black shall clothe me." 



" A Ballad under this name, and somewhat 

similar, was printed by Wotherspoon, in the 

second volume of his Collection : there are, how- 

& ever, some breaches in that one, which are now 












sm 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



291 



happily made up in this one. There is also a 
difference between them in the manner of de- 
tail. The Duncan Greeme mentioned in the 
ballad is only fictitious, to prevent the real name 
being known. 

" Lizie Baillie was a daughter of the Reverend 
Mr Baillie's, and lady's maid to the Countess of 
Saltoun, to whose son, Alexander, master of 
Saltoun, she bare a child. The young man 
wished to legitimatise the offspring of his unlaw- 
ful love, by marrying the mother of his child, 
but was prevented by Lord and Lady Sal- 
toun, his father and mother, as being below his 
degree; when he retorted by saying,— ' She was 
a minister's daughter, and he was but a minis- 
ter's grandson.' He, on the mother's side, hav- 
ing descended from Dr James Sharpe, Arch- 
bishop of St Andrews, who was assassinated in 
1679. The young nobleman's mother's name 
was Margaret Sharpe, who married William, 
second Lord Saltoun, and he was the only issue. 
After having continued a considerable length of 
' time a bachelor, he married Lady Mary Gordon, 
daughter of George Earl of Aberdeen, and Lizie 
Baillie was then forgotten. The late Mr Fraser, 
minister of Tyrie, was a grandson to Lizie Baillie, 
and great grandson to Alexander Fraser, third 
Lord Saltoun." — Buchan's Ballads of the North.'] 

It fell about the Lammas time, 

When flowers were fresh and green ; 

Lizie Baillie to Gartartan went, 
To see her sister Jean. 

She meant to go unto that place, 

To stay a little while ; 
But mark what fortune her befell, 

When she went to the isle. 

It fell out upon a day, 

Sheep -shearing at an end ; 
Lizie Baillie she walk'd out, 

To see a distant friend. 

But going down in a low glen, 

She met wi' Duncan Graeme, 
Who courted her along the way, 

Likewise conveyed her hame. 

" My bonnie Lizie Baillie, 

I'll row you in my plaidie ; 
If ye'll gang ower the hills wi' me, 

And be a Highland ladie." 



f I winna gang alang wi' you, 

Indeed I maun confess ; 
I can neither milk cow nor ewe, 

Is or yet can I speak Earse." 

" O never fear, Lizie," he said, 

" If ye will gang wi' me ; 
All that is into my place, 

Can speak as gude Scotch as thee. 

" But for a time, we now maun part, 

I hinna time to tarry ; 
Next when we twa meet again, 

Will be in Castlecary." 

When Lizie tarried out her time, 

Unto her father's came} 
The very first night she arrived, 

Wha comes but Duncan Graeme. 

Says, " Bonny Lizie Baillie, 

A gude deed mat ye dee ; 
Although to me ye brake your tryst, 

Now I am come for thee." 

" O stay at hame, her father said," 
Your mither cannot want thee ; 

And gin ye gang awa' this night, 
We'll ha'e a Killycrankie." 

" My bonnie Lizie Baillie, 
O come to me without delay ; 

O would ye ha'e sae little wit, 

As mind what odd folks wad say ?" 

She wouldna ha'e the Lowlandman, 
That wears the coat sae blue ; 

But she would ha'e the Highlandman, 
That wears the plaid and trews. 

Out it spake her mother then, 

A sorry heart had she ; 
Says, " Wae be to his Highland face, 

That's ta'en my lass frae me i" 



["John Kincaid, Laird of Waristoun, (an estate 
situated between the city of Edinburgh and the 
^sea, towards Leith,) was murdered, on the 2nd 









£§b 







r&j 






m 






: <g) 



of July 1600, by a man named Rolert Weir, 
who was employed to do so by his wife, Jean 
Livingstone, daughter of the Laird of Dunipace. 
The unfortunate woman, who thus became im- 
plicated in a crime so revolting to humanity, 
was only twenty-one years of age at the time. It 
is probable from some circumstances, that her 
husband was considerably older than herself, 
and also that their marriage was any thing but 
one of love. It is only alleged, however, that she 
was instigated to seek his death by resentment 
for some bad treatment on his part, and, in parti- 
cular, for a bite which he had inflicted on her arm . 
There was something extraordinary in the deli- 
beration with which this wretched woman ap- 
proached the awful gulf of crime. Having re- 
solved on the means to be employed in the mur- 
der, she sent for a quondam servant of her father, 
Robert Weir, who lived in the neighbouring city. 
He came to the place of Waristoun, to see her ; 
but, for some unexplained reason, was not ad- 
mitted. She again sent for him, and he again 
went. Again he was not admitted. At leDgth, 
on his being called a third time, he was intro- 
duced to her presence. Before this time she had 
found an accomplice in the nurse of her child. 
It was then arranged, that Weir should be con- 
cealed in a cellar till the dead of night, when he 
should come forth and proceed to destroy the 
laird as he lay in his chamber. The bloody tra- 
gedy was acted precisely in accordance with this 
plan. Weir was brought up, at midnight, from 
the cellar to the hall by the lady herself, and 
afterwards went forward alone to the laird's bed- 
room. As he proceeded to his bloody work, she 
retired to her bed, to wait the intelligence of her 
husband's murder. When Weir entered the 
chamber, Waristoun awoke with the noise, and 
leant inquiringly over the side of the bed. The 
murderer then leapt upon him; the unhappy 
man uttered a great cry ; Weir gave him several 
dreadful blows on vital parts, particularly one 
on the flank vein. But as the laird was still 
able to cry out, he at length saw fit to take more 
effective measures : he seized him by the throat 
with both hands, and, compressing that part 
with all his force, succeeded, after a few minutes, 
in depriving him of life. When the lady heard 
her husband's first death-shout, she leapt out of 
bed, in an agony of mingled horror and repent- 
ance, and descended to the hall ; but she made 
no effort to countermand her mission of destruc- 
tion. She waited patiently till Weir came down 
to> inform her that all was over. 






" Weir made an immediate escape from j ustice; 
but Lady Waristoun and the nurse were appre- 
hended before the deed was half a day old. Being 
caught, as the Scottish law terms it, red-hand— 
that is, while still bearing unequivocal marks of 
guilt, they were immediately tried by the magis- 
trates of Edinburgh, and sentenced to be stran- 
gled and burnt at a stake. The lady's lather, 
the Laird of Dunipace, was a favourite of King 
James VI., and he made all the interest he 
could with his majesty to procure a pardon ; but f ~^hn 
all that he could obtain from the king, was an 
order that the unhappy lady should be execute I 
by decapitation, and that at such an early hour 
in the morning as to make the affair as little of a 
spectacle as possible. 

" The space intervening between her sentence 
and her execution was only thirty-seven hours; yet ( ^"A 
in that little time, Lady Waristoun contrived to 
become converted from a blood-stained and un- 
relenting murderess into a perfect saint on earth. 
One of the then ministers of Edinburgh has left 
an account of her conversion, which was lately 
published, and would be extremely amusing, 
were it not for the disgust which seizes the mind 
on beholding such an instance of perverted reli- 
gion. She went to the scaffold with a demeanour 
which would have graced a martyr. Her lips 
were incessant in the utterance of pious excla- 
mations. She professed herself confident of 
everlasting happiness. She even grudged every 
moment which she spent in this world, as so 
much taken from that sum of eternal felicity 
which she was to enjoy in the next. The people 
who came to witness the last scene, instead of K^&r 
having their minds inspired with a salutary hor- 
ror for her crime, were engrossed with admira- 
tion of her saintly behaviour, and greedily ga- 
thered up every devout word which fell from her 
tongue. It would almost appear from the nar- 
rative of the clergyman, that her fate was rather 
a matter of envy than of any other feeling. Her 
execution took place at four in the morning of 
the 5th of July, at the Watergate, near Holy- 
roodhouse ; and at the same hour her nurse was 
burnt on the castle -hill. It is some gratification 
to know, that the actual murderer, Weir, was 
eventually seized and executed, though not till 
four years after." — Chambers.'] 

Doun by yon bonnie garden green, 

Sae merrily as she gaes ! 
She has, 1 wis, twa weel-made feet, 

And she trips upon her taes. 








--> ---. Sne has twa weel-made feet, I trow ; 

Far better is her hand ; 
Vj^-4, She is as jimp in the middle sae fine, 
As ony willow wand. 

It was at dinner as they sat, 
r ^r cJ And when they drank the wine, 

)c]L/\ How happy were the laird and lady 
Of bonnie Waristoun ! 

H r But he has spoken a word in jest ; 

Her answer was not good ; 
And he has thrown a plate at her, 
Made her mouth gush out o' blude. 

She wasna frae her chamber door 
A step, but barely three, 
VX^ When up and at her richt hand 

There stood Man's Enemie ! 






" G-if ye will do my bidding, lady, 

At my bidding for to be, 
I'll learn you a richt skeely wile, 

Avenged for to be. 

*' At evening, when ye sit and sup, 

And when ye drink the wine, 
See that ye fill the glass weel up 

To the Laird o' Waristoun." 

The Foul Thief he has kuist the knot; 

She lift his head on hie ; 
And the fause nourice drew the knot, 

That Waristoun garr'd die. 

Then word has gane to Leith, to Leith, 

And up to Edinbro toun, 
That the lady she has slain the laird, 

The laird of Waristoun. 

And they've ta'en her and the fause nourice, 
And in prison ha*e them boun' ; 

The nourice she was hard of heart, 
But the lady fell in a swoom. 

In it came her brother dear ; 

A sorry man was he : 
" I wad gi'e a' the lands I ha'e, 

Bonnie Jean, to borrow thee. 

" borrow me, brother ! borrow me ! 

O borrowed sail I never be ; 
For I garr'd kill my ain gude lord, 

And life is nae pleasure to me." 



In it came her mother dear ; 

A sorry woman was she : 
" I wad gi'e my white money and gowd, 

Bonnie Jean to borrow thee." 

" Borrow me, mother ! borrow me ! 

O borrowed sail I never be ; 
For I garr'd kill my ain gude lord, 

And life's nae pleasure to me." 

Then in it came her father dear ; 

A sorry man was he : 
" Ochon, alas, my bonnie Jean ! 

If I had you at harne wi' me ] 

" Seven daughters I ha'e left at hame, 

As fair as fair can be ; 
But I would gi'e them a', ane by ane, 

Jean, to borrow thee." 

'* O borrow me, father ! borrow me ! 

Borrowed sail I never be ; 
I that is worthy o' the death 

It's richt that I suld dee. 

" Warristoun, I was your wife 
These nine years, running ten ; 

And 1 never io'ed ye half sae weel 
As now when ye're lying slain ! 

" Cause tak' me out at nicht, at nicht; 

Let the sun not on me shine : 
And on yon heiding hill strike aff 

This dowie heid of mine. 

" But first tak" aff my gowd brocade; 

Let only my petticoat be; 
And tie my mantle ower my head; 

For my death I daurna see." 



Sae they've ta'en her to the heiding hill, 5£Z- 

At morn, afore the sun ; 
And wi' mournfu' sighs they've ta'en her life 

For the death o' Waristoun. 



(* 



[" This local ballad, which commemorates 

some real event, is given from the recitation of 

an old woman, residing in the neighbourhood of 

5; Cambus Michael, Perthshire. It possesses the |§ 




^VV : 



■■■.,. : . y: 







r®! 



<£>C? 



•'" 



elements of good poetry, and, bad it fallen into 
the hands of those who make no scruple of inter- 
polating and corrupting the text of oral song, it 
might have been made, with little trouble, a 
very interesting and pathetic composition. 

" Kercock and Balathy are two small villages 
on the banks of the Tay ; the latter is nearly op- 
posite Stobhall. According to tradition, the ill- 
fated hero of the ballad had a Ieman in each of 
these places, and it was on the occasion of his 
paying a visit to his Kercock love, that the 
jealous dame in Balathy Toun, from a revengeful 
feeling, scuttled the boat in which he was to re- 
cross the Tay to Stobhall." — Mother?vell,] 

David Deummokd's destinie, 

Gude man o' appearance o' Cargill ; 

I wat his blude rins in the flude, 
Sae sair against his parents' will. 

She was the lass o' Balathy toun, 
And. he the butler o' Stobhall ; 

And. mony a time she wauked late> 
To bore the coble o' Cargill. 

His bed was made in Kercock ha', 
Of gude clean sheets and of the hay ; 

He wudna rest ae nicht therein, 

But on the proud waters he wud gae. 

His bed was made in Balathy toun, 
Of the clean sheets and of the strae ; 

But I wat it was far better made, 
Into the bottom o' bonnie Tay. 

She bored the coble in seven pairts, 

1 wat her heart might ha'e been sae sair, 

For there she got the bonnie lad lost, 
Wi' the curly locks and the yellow hair. 

He put his foot into the boat, 

He little thocht o' ony ill : 
But before that he was mid waters, 

The weary coble began to fill. 

" Woe be to the lass o' Balathy toun, 
I wat an ill death may she dee ; 

For she bored the coble in seven pairts, 
And let the waters perish me ! 

" help ! O help ! I can get nane, 
Nae help o' man can to me come !" 

This was about his dying words, 

"When he was choaked up to the chin. 



" Gae tell my father and my mother, 
It was naebody did me this ill ; 

I was a-going my ain errands, 

Lost at the coble o' bonnie Cargill." 

She bored the boat in seven pairts, 
I wat she bored it wi' gude will ; 

And there they got the bonnie lad's corpse, 
In the kirk shot o' bonnie Cargill. 

Oh a' the keys o' bonnie Stobha', 
I wat they at his belt did hing ; 

But a' the keys of bonnie Stobha', 
They now ly low inf -*ke stream. 

A braver page into his -age, 

Ne'er set a foot upon the plain ; 

His father to his mother said, 

" Oh sae sune as we've wanted him ! 

" I wat they had mair luve than this, 
When they were young and at the scule ; 

But for his sake she wauked late, 

And bored the coble o' bonnie Cargill. 

" There's ne'er a clean sark gae on my back, 
Nor yet a kame gae in my hair ; 

There's neither coal nor candle licht, 
Shall shine in my bower for ever mair. 

" At kirk nor market I'se ne'er be at, 
Nor yet a blythe blink in my e'e ; 

There's ne'er a ane shall say to anither, 
That's the lassie garr'd the young man dee . ' 

Between the yetts o' bonnie Stobha', 
And the Kirkstyle o' bonnie Cargill ; 

There is mony a man and mother's son, 
That was at my luve's burial. 



(0^ 



$mhiu$ jbwgtte 









[First published by Motherwell.] 

There lived a lady in Scotland, 

Hey my love and ho my joy ; 
There lived a lady in Scotland, 

Who dearly lov^d me ; 
There lived a lady in Scotland, 

And she's fa'n in love wi' an Englishman, 
^ And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt in Dundee, 



& 

/'^A 












nE) 



Ilie father unto the daughter came, 

Hey my love, &-c. 
The father unto the daughter came, 

"Who dearly, Sec 
The father unto the daughter came, 

laying, "Will you forsake that Englishman," 
And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt in 
Dundee ! 

" If you •will not that Englishman forsake, 

Hey my love, &c. 
If you wiU not that Englishman forsake, 

Who dearly, &c. 
If you -will not that Englishman forsake, 

I will burn you at a stake, 
And bonnie," &c. 

** I will not that Englishman forsake, 

Hty my Iovj, &c. 
I will not that Englishman forsake, 

Who dearly, &c. 
I -will not that Englishman forsake, 

Though you should burn me at a stake, 
And bonnie, &c. 

" where will I get a pretty little boy, 

Hey my love, &c. 
O where will I get a pretty little boy, 

"Who dearly, &c. 
O where will I get a pretty little boy, 

"Who will carry tidings to my joy, 
And bonnie," &c. 

" Here am I a pretty little boy, 

Hey my love, &c. 
Here am I a pretty little boy, 

Who dearly loves thee ; 
Here am I a pretty little boy, 

"Who will carry tidings to thy joy, 
And bonnie," &a. 

" Give to him this right hand glove, 

Hey my love, &c. 
Give to him this right hand glove, 

Who dearly loved me ; 
Give to him this right hand glove, 

Tell him to get another love, 
For bonnie, &e. 



" Give to him this little pen-knife. 

Hey my love, &c. 
Give to him this little pen-knife, 

Who dearly, &c. 



Give to him this little pen-knife, 
Tell him to get another wife, 
For bonnie, &c. 

" Give to him this gay gold ring, 

Hey my love, &c. 
Give to him this gay gold ring, 

Who dearly loves, &c. 
Give to him this gay gold ring, 

Tell him I'm going to my burning, 
And bonnie," &e. 

Her father he ca'd up the stake, 

Hey my love, &c. 
Her father he ca'd up the stake, 

Who dearly, &c. 
Her father he ca'd up the stake, 

Her brother he the fire did make, 
And bonnie Susie Cleland was burnt in Dundee. 









. 



IMg Sen, m He 

[Fhom Motherwell's collection, where it is 
said to be popular in the southern parishes of 

Perthshire.] 

There were three ladies lived in a bower, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
And they went out to pull a flower, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. 

They hadna pu'ed a flower but ane, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
When up started to them a banisht man, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. 

He's ta'en the first sister by her hand, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
And he's turned her round and made her stand, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. 

" It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie ?" 







mi) 



I 



(QA 



He's killed this may and he's laid her by, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
For to bear the red rose company, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. 

He's taken the second ane by the hand, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
And he's turned her round and made her stand, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. 

" It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie ?" 

" I'll not be a rank robber's wife, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
But I'll rather die by your wee pen-knife, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." 

He's killed this may and he's laid her by, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
For to bear the red rose company, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. 

He's taken the youngest ane by the hand, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
And he's turned her round and made her stand, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. 

Says, " "Will ye be a rank robber's wife, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." 

" I'll not be a rank robber's wife, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
Nor will I die by your wee ken-knife, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. 

" For I ha'e a brother in this wood, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
-And gin ye kill me, it's he 11 kill thee, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." 

" What's thy brother's name, come tell to me ? 

Eh vow bonhie." 
My brother's name is Baby Lon, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." 

" O sister, sister, what have I done, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
O have I done this ill to thee, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie ? 



" since I've done this evil deed, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
Good sail never be seen o' me, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." 

He's taken out his wee pen-knife, 

Eh vow bonnie, 
And he's twyned himsel' o' his ain sweet life, 
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. 



[From the Border Minstrelsy, where it is given 
from the recitation of a Lady.] 

Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye, 

He has wedded her with a ring ; 
Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye, 

But he darna bring her hame. 

" Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dear! z 

Your blessing now grant to me !" 
" Instead of a blessing ye sail have my curse, IcA^ 

And you'll get nae blessing frae me." 

(V< 

She has called upon her waiting maid, 

To fill a glass of wine ; 
She has called upon her false steward, 

To put rank poison in. 

She has put it to her roudes lip,* 

And to her roudes chin ; 
She has put it to her fause fause mouth, 

But the never a drap gaed in. 

He has put it to his bonnie mouth, 

And to his bonnie chin, 
He's put it to his cherry lip, 

And sae fast the rank poison ran in. 

" O ye ha'e poisoned your ae son, mother, 

Your ae son and your heir ; 
O ye ha'e poisoned your ae son, mother, 

And sons you'll never ha'e mair. 

" O where will I get a little boy, 

That will win hose and shoon, 
To run sae fast to Darlinton, 

And bid fair Eleanor come?" 

* Roudes— haggard. 



I 
I 






Then up and spake a little boy, 

That wad win hose and shoon, — 
" O I'll away to Darlinton, 

And bid fair Eleanor come." 

O he has run to Darlinton, 

And tirled at the pin ; 
And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's sel' 

To let the bonnie boy in ? 

" Your gude-mother has made ye a rare 
dinour, 

She's made it baith gude and fine ; 
Your gude-mother has made ye a gay dinour, 

And ye maun cum till her and dine." 

It's twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town, 

The langest that ever were gane ; 
But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was 
light, 

And she cam' linkin' in. 

But when she cam' to Sillertoun town, 

And into Sillertoun ha', 
The torches were burning, the ladies were 
mourning, 

And they were weeping a'. 

" where is now my wedded lord, 

And where now can he be ? 
O where is now my wedded lord ? 

Eor him I canna see." 

" Your wedded lord is dead," she says, 
" And just gane to be laid in the clay ; 

Your wedded lord is dead," she says, 
" And just gane to be buried the day. 

" Ye'se get nane o' his gowd, ye'se get nane o' 
his gear, 

Ye'se get nae thing frae me ; 
Ye'se no get an inch o' his gude braid land, 

Though your heart suld burst in three." 

" I want nane o' his gowd, I want nane o' his 
gear, 

I want nae land frae thee ; 
But I'll ha'e the rings that's on his finger, 

For them he did promise to me." 

" Ye'se no get the rings that's on his finger, 

Ye'se no get them frae me ; 
Ye'se no get the rings that's on his finger, 

An' your heart suld burst in three." 



She's turned her back unto the wa', 

And her face unto a rock j 
And there, before the mother's face, 

Her very heart it broke. 

The tane was buried in Mary's kirk, 
The tother in Mary's quair ; 

And out o' the tane there sprang a birk, 
And out o' the tother a brier. 

And thae twa met, and thae twa plat, 

The birk but and the brier ; 
And by that ye may very weel ken 

They were twa lovers dear.* 



W\ 






§§ 



EAEL ROBERT. 

[From Motherwell's collection, where it is 
said to be given from the recitation of an old 
woman, a native of Bonhill, in Dumbarton- 
shire.] 

It's fifty miles to Sittangen's rocks, 

As ever was ridden or gane ; 
And Earl Robert has wedded a wife, 

But he darna bring her hame. 

And Earl Robert has wedded a wife, &c. 

His mother she call'd to her waiting maid : 

" bring me a pint of wine, 
For I dinna weel ken what hour of this day 

That my son Earl Robert shall dine." 

She's put it to her fause, fause cheek, 

But an' her fause, fause chin ; 
She's put it to her fause, fause lips, 

But never a drap went in. 

But he's put it to his bonnie cheek, 

Aye and his bonnie chin ; 
He's put it to bis red rosy lips, 

And the poison went merrily down. 



" O where will I get a bonnie boy, 
That will win hose and shoon — 

That will gang quickly to Sittengen's rock, 
And bid my lady come ':" 



fet 



* The last two verses are common to many V.jS | 
ballads, and are probably derived from some old || 
metrical romance, since we find the idea occur 
















9R 






It's out then speaks a bonnie boy, 

To Earl Eobert was something a kin ; 

" Many a time heve I run thy errand, 
But this day with the tears I'll rin." 

O when he cam 5 to Sittengen's rocks, 

To the middle of a' the ha', 
There were bells a ringing and music playing, 

And ladies dancing a'. 

" What news, what news, my bonnie boy, 

What news have ye to me ; 
Is Earl Robert in very good health, 

And the ladies of your countrie ?" 

" O Earl Eobert is in very good health, 

And as weel as a man can be ; 
But his mother this night has a drink to be 
druken, 

And at it ye must be." 

She called to her waiting maid, 

To bring her a riding weed ; 
And she called to her stable groom, 

To saddle her milkwhite steed. 

But when she came to Earl Robert's bouir, 

To the middle of a' the ha', 
There were bells a ringing and sheets down 
hinging, 

And the ladies murning a'. 

" I've come for none of his gold," she said, 

" ISior none of his white monie ; 
Excepting a ring of his smallest finger, 

If that you will grant me?" 

" Thou'll no get none of his gold," she said, 

" Nor none of his white monie ; 
Thou'll no get a ring of his smallest finger, 

Though thy heart should break in three." 

She set her foot unto a stone, 

Her back unto a tree ; 
She set her foot unto a stone, 

And her heart it brak in three ! 

The one was buried in Mary's kirk, 

The other in Mary's quier ; 
Out of the one there grew a bush, 

From the other a bonnie brier. 

in the conclusion of the voluminous history of 
Sir Tristrem.— Scott. 



And thir twa grew, and thir twa threw, 
Till this twa craps drew near ; 

So all the world may plainly see 
That they lov'd each other dear. 



' 



Ignm. 



[The following ballad, which is founded on a 
Highland tradition, and now given in a revised 
state, appeared first in the Newcastle Magazine 
for May, 1827. Its scene, Glenelchaig, in Kin- 
tail, Ross-shire, is, with the exception perhaps of 
Glencoe, the most rugged locality in the West 
Highlands. The author of the Ballad is Mr 
James Telfer, Teacher, parish of Castleton, 
Langholm.] 

" Remain with us, thou gentle guest, 
Remain with us, till morning stay ; 

The daylight's dying in the west, 
And long and lonesome is the way. 

" My sons to wake the deer are gone 
In far Glen Affric's wild wood glade ; 

Flora and I are left alone, 

Give us thy company, dear maid. 

" Think not that covert guile doth lie 
Disguised in garb of fair goodwill, 

The name of hospitality 

Is sacred on the Highland hill. 

" Wert thou the daughter of my foe, 
-A s thou'rt the Saxon stranger's child, 

I would not, could not let thee go 
To be benighted in the wild. 

" Flora, my darling, cheer prepare, 
And bid the maid our welcome prove ; 

Old Kenneth of the snowy hair, 

Is young to see his daughter's love." 

" Entreat me not, thou good old man," 
With falt'ring tongue the maid replied, 

" I must pursue my wayward plan,— 
I may not, cannot here abide." 

" Ah ! maiden wayward sure thou art, 
And if thou must, thou must be gone, 

Yet was it never Kenneth's part 
To send the helpless forth alone. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" All-blighting Time hath me subdued, 4ft 

Mine eyes are glazed and dim of ken, 

The way is rugged, waste and rude — 
Glenelchaig* is a dreary glen. 

" Tet Flora will her father aid, 

So speaks that bright expressive eye- 
Shall we desert the stranger maid, 
When other aid none else is nigh !" 

" kind old man," the maiden spoke, 

" All human aid I must forego, 
My sacred vow must not be broke — 

The vow the living must not know. 

" Farewell ! — entreat not, ! farewell." 

So said, she sped away in haste ; 
Deep, deep the gloom of evening fell, 

And heaven and earth were all a waste. 

" Abate thy grief, thou white-hair'd man, 

And lovely Flora cease to weep ; 
For Heaven the heart can truly scan, 

And doth of love remembrance keep. 

•* For He who is our trust and might, 

And who is with his own alway, 
As nigh us is in shades of night, 

As in the brightest beams of day. 

(< His presence shield the maiden's soul !" — 
The gloom now dark and darker hung, 

"With wild continuous fearful howl, 
Each glen, each cliff, each cavern rung. 

Tet held she on— avaunt, dismay ! — 
O'er sparry ledge and rolling stone ; 

Eude, dark, and toilsome was the way, 
And all untrod, yet held she on. 

Yet held she on, by hill and stream, 

Thro' tearing brakes and sinking swamps, 

"While savage eyes around her gleam, 
Like half-extinguished cavern lamps. 

She heard the Glomah, (• ever dark, 
Like wakening thunder deeply moan ; 



* Glenelchaig, in Kintail, Eoss -shire, is about 
10 miles in length, and inconceivably rugged. 

f The Glomah is a water -fall from the moun- 
tains on the southern side of Glenelchaig. It is 



And louder heard the howl and bark, 

With scream, and hiss, and shriek, and 

groan. /rft' 

She came beneath that fatal rock 

Where horror lower'd in tenfold wrath — 

A hamlet here,i — the mountain broke, 
And life was overwhelmed in death. 

She deem'd she heard the bursting crash, 

The agonized and stifled shriek; 
Her senses reel, her ear-drums dash, 

Her eye-balls strain well nigh to break. 

Yet sped she on, her heart beat high, 

So loud it did itself alarm ; 
She crossed at length the Alton dye, 

Then lighter grew her thoughts of harm. 

Still sped she on by rock and bush, 

Her tender limbs much grievance found ; 

She heard the streams of Fahda rush, 

And hollow tongues were whispering round. 

Kilullin§ met her sight at length — 

Corpse candles burnt with livid flame — 

Now Heaven assist the maiden's strength, 
'Tis much to bear for mortal frame. 

As near'd she to the camp of death, 

The lights danced in the yawning blast, 

And sheeted spectres crossed her path, 
All gibbering ghastly as they pass'd. 

Yet high resolve could nothing harm, 

Sped on the maiden free of scathe ; 
Night's clammy dews fell thick and warm, 

The sulph'ry air was hot to breathe. 

She reached at length Saint Ullin's Stone, 

Composed in effort thereon sate ; 
Thou Power that yet hast led her on, 

Enstrengthen her the end to wait ! 



supposed by late tourists to be the highest in 
Britain. 

± There is a pass in Glenelchaig nearly blocked 
up with detached pieces of rock. Here, says 
tradition, was once a village, and the rock above 
giving way in the night buried it and all its in- 
habitants. 

Kilullin, literally the burying 






J=V She knelt her by the slumbering saint, 
I f t*J Viper and toad around her crawl ; 

y^fL-S Yet swerv'd she not — her soul grew faint, 
~ (S\ In prayer her lips did move — 'twas all. 



f j A languor chilled the living stream, 
r^-^i She sunk upon the mould of death ; 
yjy{ Say did she sleep as those who dream, 
Or sleep as these who slept beneath ? 

L"^r\ Her sleep was not that mortal night 
k v. =5 ) * n wn * c h *he spirit leaves the clay ; 

-^3 'Twas wak'ning to a vision bright 
/*> (cy Of light and everlasting day. 

] 'Twas wak'ning in another sphere, 
A fairer, purer, holier, higher ; 
j^t\ "Where all is eye, where all is ear, 
Cj/yoJi Where all is gratified desire. 






w 



Burst on her sight that world of bliss, 
"Where woe and death may never come ; 

She heard the hymns of Paradise, 

Where not a tuneful breeze is dumb. 

She saw Life's river flowing wide 
With Love and Mercy on the brim, 

Compared unto its crystal tide 

The splendour of our sun was dim. 

And on that tide were floating isles, 
With bowers of ever-verdant green, 

Where sate beneath th' Eternal's smiles 
Those who on earth had faithful been. 

She heard the halleluj ahs rise 

From those who stood before the throne ; 
She turned aside her mortal eyes 

From what they might not look upon. 

Her lovely face she strove to hide, 
It was, as angel's, mild and fair ; 

She felt a tear spontaneous glide, 

She thought of one she saw not there. 






^5 






A shining seraph to her came, 



In melody his accents moved, — 
" Fair virgin of the mortal frame, 
Thy steadfast faith is well approved. 

" 'Twas seen thy soul devoid of stain — 
'Twas seen thy earthly passion pure— 

Thou deem'dst thy love in battle slain— 
'Twas seen what virtue can endure. 



" 'Twas seen your souls asunder rent 

Each to its better being lost ; 
In pity was a vision sent— 

You both are proved, and faith shall boast. 

" Cease not to love while life shall last, 
And smooth your path shall love divine ; 

And when your mortal time is past, 
This visioned blissful land is thine."— 

He ceased, — the maiden raised her eye, 
His radiant form she could not mark ; 

She heard the music fall and die— 
The vision pass'd, confused and dark. 

She felt her heart give fitful thrill- 
She felt the life stream slowly play — 

She thought she heard the lark sing shrill- 
She thought she saw the breaking day. 

She felt impressed a glowing kiss, 

She heard the well-known accents move — ^ 

She started round — O powers of bliss I 

'Tis Allan Samradh— he, her love ! 

r/ 

Can fleeting visions sense enslave ? 

No, these are past, she doth not sleep ; 
'Tis he for whom she death could brave, — [cv^ 

For whom her eyes in heaven could weep. 

A_ 

The sun above the mountains bright 
Streamed liquid gold o'er land and sea ; 

Earth, ocean, sky did float in light, 
And Nature raised her hymns of glee. 

Our lovers saw not sea nor sun, 

They heard not Nature's matin hymn ; U-% 

Their souls were pour'd from one to one — 

Each other's eyes, all else was dim. 



®Je Ikttk of 3Lwuwairitg a 

[Modern Ballad, by David Veddeb.— "In 
the year 980, when the Lanes had invaded Scot- 
land, and prevailed in the battle of Luncarty, 
near Perth, the Scots were worsted and gave way -, 
and in their flight through a narrow pass, were 
stopped by a countryman and his two sons, who 
encouraged them to rally and renew the fight ; 
telling them that it was more honourable to die 



in the field fighting for their king and country, % 
than to fly and be afterwards killed by the mer- 
ciless Danes ; and upbraided those who would 
fly like cowards, when all was at stake. The 
more timorous stood still, and many of the stout 
men, who fled more by the desertion of their 
companions than want of courage, joined with 
the old man and his sons to stop the rest, till 
there was a good number together. 

The countrymen, who were armed with only 
what their ploughs furnished, leading them on, 
and returning upon the Danes, made a furious 
onset, crying aloud, " Help is at hand ! " The 
Danes, believing a fresh army was falling on 
them, the Scots thereby totally defeated them, 
and freed their own country from servitude. 

The battle being over, the old man, afterwards 
known by the name of Hay, was brought to the 
king, who, assembling a parliament at Scone, 
gave to the said Hay and his sons, as a just re- 
ward for their valour, so much land on the river 
Tay, in the district of Gowrie, as a falcon from a 
man's hand flew over till it settled ; which, being 
six miles in length, was afcerwards called Errol. 
And the king being willing to promote the said 
Hay and his sons from the rank of plebeians to 
the order of nobility, he assigned them a coat-of- 
arms, which was — argent, three escutcheons, 
gules — to intimate that the father and two sons 
had been the three fortunate shields of Scotland." 
Scottish Peerage, Art. Hay.] 

The beacon lights are blazing bright, 

The slogan's on the blast ; 
The clansmen muster rapidly, 

The fiery cross flies fast ; 

Chiefs hurry from their towers of strength, 

And vassals from their shiels ; 
For Albyn's strand's polluted by 

An hundred hostile keels. 

Oh ! vermil cheeks shall pallid grow, 

And sunny eyes shall weep; 
But not from fear nor sorrow, but 

From indignation deep ; 

To see these Scandinavian wolves, 

A wild unhallowed band, 
Like demons of destruction come 

To waste our father-land. 

The robber hordes are all debarked — 
Their raven -banners wave— 



Their swords are out— and fair Strathmore 
Is one promiscuous grave ; 

The Esk, the Brotheck, Lunan, Tay, 

Run ruddy to the sea ; 
While altar, temple, tower, and town.. 

Are levelled with the lea ! 

The hut, the cottage, and the grange, 

Are blazing up to heaven ; 
Decrepit eld, and babes alike, 

Are to this carnage given ; 

And beauteous maids and matrons fair 

Leap from the dizzy steep 
And perish — pure as snow from heaven 

Upon the ocean deep. 

The spoilers move exultingly, 

O'er Gowrie's fertile fields, 
Their deadly spears a forest seemed, 

A solid wall their shields ; 

Like locusts in their mortal flight 

Upon the orient wind, 
A paradise before them lay, 

A blighted waste behind. 

Bathed in the setting light of heaven. 

Imperial Bertha * shone, 
Like some empurpled orient queen 

Upon her emerald throne. 

The waving woods, her gorgeous train, 

Seemed paying homage meet ; 
And Tay, emitting silver sounds, 

Lay crouching at her feet. 

" Now, by the sacred mead that flows 

In Odin's palace high — 
And by the blessed light that beams 

From Thor's immortal eye, 

" If there's a recreant in my host," 

The giant Sweno cries, 
" His craven corse shall flesh my hounds — :~ 

His odious memory dies. 

"See, mountain, meadow, strath, and v€>W 
Behold the glorious prize, [stream — V"--^ 

The bright Valhalla of my dreams 
When sleep had sealed mine eyes; 

* The classical name of Perth. 



PS 









V?C5 



8 




There lies the land of my desire— 

The home of all my love ; 
And there the Danish diadem 

Shall shine all crowns above." 

Ten thousand voices burst at once 

In one loud chorus swell ; 
Whilst echo from her mountain caves, 

Prolonged the savage yell ; 

Ten thousand brands on brazen shields 

In dire collision clashed — 
Ten thousand darts were hurled in air, 

Or in the sod were dashed. 

But hark ! a shout has answered theirs, 
Like mountain torrents loud — 

A marshalled host comes moving on 
Dense as a thunder cloud — 

And like that cloud, surcharged with death, 

And rolling rapidly : — 
That thunder-cloud is Scotland's King, 

And Scotland's chivalry. 

In fiery haste the Scots advance, 

And with the invaders close — 
Like tigers of their cubs bereaved, 

They spring upon their foes. 

And thousands fall no more to rise, 
Gashed o'er with many a wound ; 

And shrieks, and shouts, and groans are blent, 
And life-blood stains the ground. 

The Scottish monarch marked his track 

Along the gory plain; 
His beacons in that sea of blood 

Were pyramids of slain. 

He spurred his foaming charger on 

Along the embattled line, 
And with his ponderous battle-axe 

Clove Sweno to the chine. 

Now clan with clan, and son with sire, 

And chief with chieftain vied, 
To pierce the Danish phalanx through, 

And turn the battle's tide. 

For vassal, knight, and thane, alike 

Their blood ran hot and high ; 
Death glared from every falchion's edge, 

And vengeance from each eye. 



What boots it now how well they fought, 

For ah ! they fought in vain ; 
Their squadrons reel — their ranks are broke— 

They fly before the Dane. 

The banner of the silver cross 

Lies trampled in the clay, 
And for the glorious battle-cry, 

'Tis, " Save himself who may." 

See how they flee o'er moor and dale, 

Like fugitives forlorn ; 
Where is thine honour, Scotland, now ? 

'Tis like thy banners — torn. 

Yes, there is honour — there is hope — 

For by this blessed light, 
Three gallant men have left their teams, 

And check'd the shameful flight. 

And now they rally, form, and charge, 

And gory gaps they hewed ; 
With tenfold fury in their souls, 

The battle was renewed. 

'Twas hand to hand, and brand to brand, 

And dirk and dagger met — 
And flane and flane alternately 

In red heart-blood were wet. 

On, on, ye glorious peasants three, 

The bloody die is cast ; 
The Danes are routed — See ; they fly 

Like snow-flakes on the blast. 

On, on, ye peasant heroes, on, 
And win your deathless meed— 

The gory die at length is cast, 
And Scotland's soil is freed. 

There's mirth and kingly revelry 

In Scoone's imperial hall ; 
And squire and knight, and lord and thane, 

Grace that high festival ; 

And royalty, in robes of state, 

And beauty's bright display; 
But every eye in homage turned 

Upon the patriots Hay. 

There's mimic warfare on the lawn, 

Beneath the royal eye ; 
There's lances shivered— knights unhorsed— 

The flower of chivalry ; 









SCOTTISH BALrADS. 



303 



And high-born dames, lit up with smiles 

Bright aa the milky way — 
But O ! their smiles beamed brightest on 

The stalwart peasants Hay. 

Then royal Kenneth left his throne, 

And laid his crown aside — 
" Are you the glorious peasants three 

That turned the battle's tide ? 

" Your patent of nobility 
Heaven gave you at your birth, 



Alas ! a King can only add 
The splendours of the earth. 

" Such as we have we give. Be lords 

Of Errol's fertile fields ; 
And be your scutcheon blazoned with 

Three blood-stained Scottish shields ; 

" And may your fame, your glory, last 

For ever and for aye, 
For Scotland, to the end of time, 

Shall bless the name of Hay." 









btl 



[iloDERX Ballad. — Robert White. — Here first printed.] 



It fell upon a summer day, beyond the noontide hour, 
Amidst all England's chivalry, in Windsor's royal tower, 
That stern and high debate arose, for thus the question ran : — 
Throughout the bounds of Christendom, who was the bravest man ? 

Remarked Sir Gilbert Hamilton, a young and dauntless knight, 
" I place King Robert Bruce before each other martial wight : 
He hath been England's deadliest foe, as Banncckburn can tell; 
But in battle shock or listed field, no arm can his excel." — 






^3 



De Spenser spoke : — " It ill becomes a knight in England bom 
To throw upon her chivalry such rude contempt and scorn; 
But if Sir Gilbert Hamilton be not in jesting mood, 
Perhaps, within his veins may ran some trace of Scottish blood." — 

" My mother was most virtuous, and that my lance shall prove 
Upon your helm when next we meet ; meantime, there lies my glove.' : 
And as he spoke his gauntlet rang in centre of the hall : 
De Spenser took the hostile pledge before the warriors all. 

Oh ! eyes were strained, and hearts aroused upon the battle day, 
When both the champions mounted came in proud and stern array : 
Short was the struggle, courses three in dreadful ire were run; 
De Spenser grovelled on the dust, his foe the honours won. 

But few around the victor came his fair renown to grace ; 

The man who fell beneath his lance was of a potent race : 

And threatening looks and sullen brows he met with every where; 

He must away— he must be gone, if he his life would spare. 






C^d 



All armed in mail of burnished steel full gaily rode he forth ; 
The broad and open way he kept that led him to the north : 
Six suns upon his left had set — the seventh was shining bright, 
"When Scotland's lovely hills and dales lay stretched before his sight. 

Through sounding rill and copsewood wild, on, on he held his way, 
Until the banks and sweeping stream of Clyde before him lay : 
Anon, the hunter's horn and bay of hounds came on his ear, 
And from a grove of dark green pines leaped forth a panting deer. 

Swift on its track in open view, advanced the mingling foe, 
And soon amid the moss and fern they lay its antlers low : 
Bold was the foremost horseman's look, majestic was his air, 
Most firmly knit his frame and limbs, and sable dark his hair. 

He gazed upon the stranger, " Sir knight, why comest thou here, 
In coat of mail, with battle sword, to chase the flying deer ?" — 
" From England's treacherous courtiers I come, my life to save, 
And refuge seek from Bruce your king, the bravest of the brave. 

" My name is Gilbert Hamilton ; — it chanced in Windsor Hall, 

That lofty words and strife arose amongst our barons all, 

And this the subject :— through each land where Christian banners wave. 

Who was in battle's stern turmoil most chivalrous and brave ? 

" TJnfearing to disclose the truth, I testimony bore 
To Bruce's fame, and gave him place all other knights before; 
Be Spenser mocked me bitterly ; but down my gage I threw : 
We met within the battle lists, — the parasite I slew." — 



Ok) 



" Enough, enough, Sir Gilbert ; we give thee welcome here ; 

Look round thee, and where'er thine eye traverses far or near, 

These acres broad shall be thine own, whilst thou that sword shalt bring 

To aid fair Scotland's cause and mine, for I am Bruce, the king !" 



BOBDEK BALLADS. 



Eatotetiwtiu 



[Reprinted from the fifth Edition of Sir 
Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- 
der.] 

From the remote period, -when the Eoman pro- 
vince was contracted by the ramparts of Severus, 
until the union of the kingdoms, the borders of 
Scotland formed the stage, upon which were pre- 
sented the most memorable conflicts of two gal- 
lant nations. The inhabitants, at the com- 
mencement of this sera, formed the first wave of 
the torrent, which assaulted, and finally over- 
whelmed, the barriers of the Roman power in 
Britain. The subsequent events, in which they 
were engaged, tended little to diminish their 
military hardihood, or to reconcile them to a 
more civilized state of society. We have no 
occasion to trace the state of the borders during 
the long and obscure period of Scottish history, 
which preceded the accession of the Stuart 
family. To illustrate a few ballads, the earliest 
of which is hardly coeval with James V., such 
an inquiry would be equally difficult and vain. 
If we may trust the Welch bards, in their account 
of the wars betwixt the Saxons and Danes of Deira 
and the Cumraig, imagination can 
hardly from any idea of conflicts 
more desperate, than were maintained, on the 
borders, between the ancient British and their 
Teutonic invaders. Thus, the Gododin describes • 



A. D. 570. 



the waste and devastation of mutual havoc, in 
colours so glowing, as strongly to recall the words 
of Tacitus; " Et ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem 
appellant, "f 

At a later period, the Saxon families, who fled 
from the exterminating sword of the Conqueror, 
with many of the Normans themselves, whom 
discontent and intestine feuds had driven into 
exile, began to rise into eminence upon the 
Scottish borders. They brought with them arts, 
both of peace and of war, unknown in Scotland ; 
and, among their descendants, we soon number 
the most powerful border chiefs. Such, during the 
reign of the last Alexander, were 
Patrick, earl of March, and Lord 
Soulis, renowned in tradition ; and such were 
also the powerful Comyns, who early acquired 
the principal sway upon the Scottish marches. 
In the civil wars betwixt Bruce and 
Baliol, all those powerful chieftains 
espoused the unsuccessful party. They were for- 
feited and exiled; and upon their ruins was 
founded the formidable house of Douglas. The 
borders, from sea to sea, were now at the devo- 
tion of a succession of mighty chiefs, whose 
exorbitant power threatened to place a new 

f In the spirited translation of this poem, by 
Jones, the following verses are highly descrip- 
tive of the exhausted state of the victor army :— 

At Madoc's tent the clarion sounds, 
With rapid clangour hurried far : 

Each echoing dell the note resounds — 
But when returns the sons of war ! 

Thou, horn of stern necessity, 

Dull peace 1 the desert yields to thee, 
And owns thy melancholy sway. 



A. D. 1429. 



A. D. 1300. 




BOEDER BALLADS. 



I 

-.1 ^1 :■ 






m 






dynasty upon the Scottish throne. It is not' 
my intention to trace the dazzling career of this 
race of heroes, whose exploits were alike for- 
midable to the English and to their sovereign. 

The sun of Douglas set in blood. The mur- 
ders of the sixth earl, and his brother, in the 
castle of Edinburgh, were followed by that of 
their successor, poignarded at Stirling by the 
hand of his prince. His brother, Earl James, 
appears neither to have possessed the abilities 
nor the ambition of his ancestors. He drew, 
indeed, against his prince, the formidable sword 
of Douglas, but with a timid and hesitating 
hand. Procrastination ruined his cause; and 
he was deserted, at Abercorn, by the knight of 
Cadyow, chief of the Hamiltons, and by his most 
active adherents, after they had ineffectually 
exhorted him to commit his fate to 
the issue of a battle. The border 
chiefs, who longed for independence, showed 
little inclination to follow the de- 
clining fortunes of Douglas. On 
the contrary, the most powerful clans engaged 
and defeated him, at Arkinholme, in Annan- 
dale, when, after a short residence in England, 
he again endeavoured to gain a footing in his 
native country, f The spoils of Douglas were 



A. D. 1453. 



. D. 1455. 



A. D. 1457. 



liberally distributed among his conquerors, and 

I royal grants of his forfeited domains effectually 

| interested them in excluding his return. An 

I attempt on the east borders by 

" the Percy and the Douglas, both 

together," was equally unsuccessful. The earl, 

grown old in exile, longed once more to see his 

native country, and vowed, that, upon Saint 

Magdalen's day, he would deposit _ ,.„_ 

, . ~ . , A. D. 148o. 

his offering on the high altar at 

Lochmaben. — Accompanied by the banished 

earl of Albany, with his usual ill fortune, he 

entered Scotland. — The borderers assembled to 

oppose him, and he suffered a final defeat at 



f At /the battle of Arkinholme, the Earl of 
Angus, a near kinsman of Douglas, commanded 
the royal forces ; and the difference of their com- 
plexion occasioned the saying, " that the Black 
Douglas had put down the Red." The Max- 
wells, the Johnstones, and the Scotts, com- 
posed his army. Archibald, Earl of Murray, 
brother to Douglas, was slain in the action; 
and Hugh, Earl of Ormond, his second brother, 
was taken and executed. His captors, Lord 
Carlisle, and the Baron of Johnstone, were 
rewarded with a grant of the lands of Pittinane, 
upon Clyde. — Godscroft, vol. i. p. 375. — Balfour's 
MS. in the Advocate's Library, Edinburgh. — 
Abercrombie's Achievements, vol. ii. p. 361. folio 
Ed. — The other chiefs were also distinguished by 
royal favour. By a charter, upon record, dated 
25th February, 1548, the king grants to Walter 
Scott of Kirkurd, ancestor of the house of Buc- 
cleuch, the lands of Abingtown, Phareholm, ^Edinburgh, 1773, p. 121 



and Glentonan craig, in Lanarkshire, " Pro suo 
Jideli servitio nobis impenso et pro quod interfuit 
in conflictu de Arkinholme in occisione et captione 
nostrorum rebellium quondam Archibdldi et Hu- 
gonis de Douglas olim comitum Moravia et de 
Ormond et aliorum rebellium nostrorum in eorum 
comitivia existen ; ibidem captorum et interfec- 
torum." Similar grants of land were made to 
Finnart and Arran, the two branches of the 
house of Hamilton ; to the chiefs of the Batti- 
sons ; but above all, to the Earl of Angus, who 
obtained from royal favour a donation of the 
Lordship of Douglas, and many other lands, 
now held by Lord Douglas, as his representa- 
tive. There appears, however, to be some doubt, 
whether, in this division, the Earl of Angus 
received more than his natural right. Our his- 
torians, indeed, say, that William I. Earl of 
Douglas, had three sons; 1. James, the 2d. 
Earl, who died in the field of Otterburn ; 2, 
Archibald the Grim, 3d. Earl; and 3. George, 
in right of his mother, Earl of Angus. Whe- 
ther, however, this Archibald was actually the 
son of William seems very doubtful ; and Sir 
David Dalrymple has strenuously maintained 
the contrary. Now, if Archibald the Grim 
intruded into the earldom of Douglas, without 
being a son of that family, it follows that the 
house of Angus, being kept out of their just 
rights for more than a century, were only 
restored to them after the battle of Arkinholme. 
Perhaps this may help to account for the eager 
interest taken by the Earl of Angus against his 
kinsman. — Remarks on History of Scotland, 










BOEDER BALLADS. 



Burnswark, in Dumfriesshire. The aged earl^ border counties arrayed against their sovereign, 
was taken in the fight, by a son of Kirkpatrick | j under the banners of his own son. The king 
of Closeburn, one of his own vassals. A grant j i was supported by almost all the barons of the 
of lands had been offered for his person: "Carry j I north ; but the tumultuous ranks of the High- 
me to the king ! " said Douglas to Kirkpatrick : j | landers were ill able to endure the steady and 
"thou art well entitled to profit by my misfor- j ! rapid charge of the men of Annandale and Lid- 



tune ; for thou wast true to me while I was 
true to myself." The young man wept bitterly, 
and offered to fly with the earl into England. 
But Douglas, weary of exile, refused his proffered 
liberty, and only requested, that Kirkpatrick 
would not deliver him to the king, till he had 
secured his own reward. f Kirkpatrick did more : 
he stipulated for the personal safety of his old 
master. His generous intercession prevailed; 
and the last of the Douglasses was permitted to 
die, in monastic seclusion, in the abbey of Lin- 
dores. 

After the fall of the house of Douglas, no one 
chieftain appears to have enjoyed the same 
extensive supremacy over the Scottish borders. 
The various barons, who had partaken of the 
spoil, combined in resisting a succession of 
uncontrolled domination. The earl of Angus 
alone seems to have taken rapid steps in the 
same course of ambition, which had been pur- 
sued by his kinsmen and rivals, the earls of 
Douglas. Archibald, sixth earl of Angus, called 
Bell-the-Cat, was, at once, warden of the east 
and middle marches, Lord of Liddisdale, and 
Jedwood forest, and possessed of the strong 
castles of Douglas, Hermitage, and Tantallon. 
Highly esteemed by the ancient nobility, a 
faction which he headed shook the throne of the 
feeble James III., whose person they restrained, 
and whose minions they led to an ignominious 
death. The king failed not to show his sense of 
these insults, though unable effectually to avenge 
them. This hastened his fate : and the field of 
Bannockburn, once the scene of a more glorious 
conflict, beheld the combined chieftains of the 

| A grant of the king, dated 2d. October, 
1484, bestowed upon Kirkpatrick, for this ac- 
ceptable service, the lands of Kirkmichael. 



disdale,who bear spears two ells longer than weie 

used by the rest of their countrymen. The yells 

with which they accompanied their onset, 

caused the heart of James to quail within him. 

He deserted his host, and fled to- _ JOO 

A. D. 148b. 
wards Stirling; but, falling from 

his horse, he was murdered by the pursuers. 

James IV., a monarch of a vigorous and 
energetic character, was well aware of the dan- 
ger which his ancestors had experienced, from 
the preponderance of one overgrown family. He 
is supposed to have smiled internally, when the 
border and highland champions bled and died 
in the savage sports of chivalry, by which his nup- 
tials were solemnized. Upon the waxing power 
of Angus he kept a wary eye ; and, embracing the 
occasion of a casual slaughter, he compelled that 
earl and his son to exchange the lordship of Lid- 
disdale, and the castle of Hermitage, for the 
castle and lordship of Bothwell. i By this policy, 






$ Spens of Kilspindie, a renowned cavalier, 
had been present in court, when the Earl of 
Angus was highly praised for strength and 
valour. " It may be," answered Spens, "if all 
be good that is upcome," insinuating, that the 
courage of the earl might not answer the pro- 
mise of his person. Shortly after, Angus, while 
haw r king near Borthwick, with a single atten- 
dant, met Kilspindie. " What reason had ye," 
said the earl, "for making question of my man- 
hood ? thou art a tall fellow, and so am I ; and 
by St. Bride of Douglas, one of us shall pay for 
it!" — "Since it may be no better," answered 
Kilspindie, " I will defend myself against the 
best earl in Scotland." With these words they 
encountered fiercely, till Angus, with one blow, 
severed the thigh of his antagonist, who died 
upon the spot. The earl then addressed the 
attendant of Kilspindie: "Go thy way: tell 
my gossip, the king, that here was nothing but 
&7 fair play. I know my gossip will be offended; 






308 



BORDER BALLADS. 



A. D. 1510. 



he prevented the house of Angus, mighty as it< 
was, from rising to the height, whence the elder 
branch of their family had been hurled. 

Nor did James fail in affording his subjects on 
the marches marks of his royal justice and pro- 
tection. The clan of Turnbull 
having been guilty of unbounded 
excesses, the king came suddenly to Jedburgh, by 
a night march, and executed the most rigid 
justice upon the astonished offenders. Their 
submission was made with singular solemnity. 
Two hundred of the tribe met the king, at the 
water of Rule, holding in their hands the naked 
swords, with which they had perpetrated their 
crimes, and having each around his neck the 
halter which he had well merited. A few were 
capitally punished, many imprisoned, and the 
rest dismissed, after they had given hostages for 
their future peaceable demeanour.— Holinshed's 
Chtonicle, Lesly. 

The hopes of Scotland, excited by the prudent 
and spirited conduct of James, were doomed to 
a sudden and fatal reverse. Why should we 
recapitulate the painful tale of the defeat and 
death of a high-spirited prince? Prudence, 
policy, the prodigies of superstition, and the 
advice of his most experienced counsellors, were 
alike unable to subdue in James the blazing zeal 
of romantic chivalry. The monarch, and the 
flower of his nobles, precipitately rushed to the 
fatal field of Flodden, whence they 
were never to return. 

The minority of James V. presents a melan- 
choly scene. Scotland, through all its extent, 



A. D. 1513. 



but I will get me into Liddisdale, and remain in 
my castle of the Hermitage till his anger be 
abated."— Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 59. The price of 
the earl's pardon seems to have been the ex- 
change mentioned in the text. Bothwell is now 
the residence of Lord Douglas. The sword with 
which Archibald, Bell-the-cat , slew Spens, was, 
by his descendant, the famous Earl of Morton, 
presented to Lord Lindsay of the Byres, when 
about to engage in single combat with Both- | 
well, at Carberry-hill.— Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 175.^ 



felt the truth of the adage, " that the country is 
hapless, whose prince is a child." But the bor- 
der counties, exposed from their situation to 
the incursions of the English, deprived of many 
of their most gallant chiefs, and harassed by the 
intestine struggles of the survivors, were re- 
duced to a wilderness, inhabited only by the 
beasts of the field, and by a few more brutal war- 
riors. Lord Home, the chamberlain and 
favourite of James I"V., leagued with the Earl 
of Angus, who married the widow of his sove- 
reign, held, for a time, the chief sway upon the 
east border. Albany, the regent of the kingdom, 
bred in the French court, and more accustomed 
to wield the pen than the sword, feebly endea- 
voured to control a lawless nobility, to whom 
his manners appeared strange, and his person 
despicable. It was in vain that he 
inveigled the Lord Home to Edin- 
burgh, where he was tried and executed. This 
example of justice, or severity, only irritated the 
kinsmen and followers of the deceased baron : 
for though, in other respects, not more sanguin- 
ary than the rest of a barbarous nation, the 
borderers never dismissed from their memory a 
deadly feud, till blood for blood had been exacted 
to the uttermost drachm.f Of this, the fate of 
Anthony d'Arcey, Seigneur de la Bastie, affords 
a melancholy example. This gallant French 
cavalier was appointed warden of the east mar- 
ches by Albany, at his first disgraceful retreat to 
France. Though De la Bastie was an able 
statesman, and a true son of chivalry, the choice 
of the regent was nevertheless unhappy. The 
new warden was a foreigner, placed in the office 



A. D. 1516. 



f The statute 1594, cap. 231, ascribes the dis- 
orders on the border in a great measure to the 
" counselles, directions, receipt, and partaking, 
of chieftains principalis of the branches, and 
househalders of the saides surnames, and clannes, 
quhilkis bears quarrrel, and seeks revenge for 
the least hurting or slauchter of ony ane of their 
unhappy race, although it were ordour of justice, 
or in rescuing and following of trew mensgeares 
stollen or reft." 



A. D. 1517. 



of Lord Home, as the delegate of' 



the very man who had brought 
that baron to the scaffold. A stratagem, con- 
trived by Home of Wedderburn, who burned to 
avenge the death of his chief, drew De la Bastie 
towards Langton in the Merse. Here he found 
himself surrounded by his enemies. In attempt- 
ing, by the speed of his horse, to gain the castle 
of Dunbar, the warden plunged into a morass, 
where he was overtaken, and cruelly butchered. 
Wedderburn himself cut off his head; and, in 
savage triumph, knitted it to his saddle-bow by 
the long* flowing hair, which had been admired 
by the dames of France.— Pitscottie, Edit. 1728, 
p. 130. Pinkerton's History of Scotland, vol. ii. 
p. 169. f 

The earl of Arran, head of the house of Hamil- 
ton, was appointed to succeed De la Bastie in 
his perilous office. But the Douglasses, the 
Homes, and the Kerrs, proved too strong for 
him upon the border. He was routed by these 
clans, at Kelso, and afterwards 
in a sharp skirmish, fought betwixt 
his faction and that of Angus, in the high -street 
of the metropolis. £ 



BORDEK BALLADS. O0Q 

@k The return of the regent was followed by the 
banishment of Angus, and by a desultory war- 
fare with England, carried on with mutual in- 
cursions. Two gallant armies, levied by Albany, 
were dismissed without any exploit worthy 
notice, while Surrey, at the head of ten thou- 
sand cavalry, burned Jedburgh, and laid waste 
all Tiviotdale. This general pays a splendid 
tribute to the gallantry of the border chiefs. He 
terms them, "the boldest men, 
and the hottest, that ever I saw any 
nation." § 



A. D. 1520. 



f This tragedy, or, perhaps, the preceding 
execution of Lord Home, must have been the 
subject of a song, the first two lines of which are 
preserved in the Complaynt of Scotland ; 

God sen' the Due hed byddin in Prance, 
And de la Bate had never come ha me. . 

P. 100. Edin. 1801. 

i The particulars of this encounter are inter- 
esting. The Hamiltons were the most numer- 
ous party, drawn chiefly from the western coun- 
ties. Their leaders met in the palace of Arch- 
bishop Beaton, and resolved to apprehend 
Angus, who was come to the city to attend the 
convention of estates. Gawin Douglas, bishop 
of Dunkeld, a near relation of Angus, in vain 
endeavoured to mediate betwixt the factions. 
He appealed to Beaton, and invoked his assist- 
ance to prevent bloodshed. "On my con- 
science," answered the archbishop, " I cannot 
help what is to happen." As he laid his hand 
upon his breast, at this solemn declaration, the __ 
hauberk, concealed by his rocket, was heard to^ 



A. D. 1523. 



clatter: "Ah! my lord!" retorted Douglas, 
"your conscience sounds hollow." He then 
expostulated with the secular leaders, and Sir 
Patrick Hamilton, brother to Arran, was con- 
vinced by his remonstrances; but Sir James, 
the natural son of the earl, upbraided his uncle 
with reluctance to fight. " False bastard ! " 
answered Sir Patrick, "I will fight to-day where 
thou darest not be seen." With these words 
they rushed tumultuously towards the high- 
street, where Angus, with the prior of Colding- 
hame, and the redoubted Wedderburn, waited 
their assault, at the head of four-hundred spear- 
men, the flower of the east marches, who, hav- 
ing broke down the gate of the Netherbow, had 
arrived just in time to the earl's assistance. 
The advantage of the ground, and the disorder 
of the Hamiltons, soon gave the day to Angus. 
Sir Patrick Hamilton, and the master of Mont- 
gomery, were slain. Arran, and Sir James 
Hamilton, escaped with difficulty; and with 
no less difficulty was the military prelate of 
Glasgow rescued from the ferocious borderers, 
by the generous interposition of Gawin Douglas. 
The skirmish was long remembered in Edin- 
burgh, by the name of "Cleanse the Causeway." 
— Pi?ikerton's History, vol. ii. p. 181. — Pitscottie, 
Edit. 1728, p. 120.— Life of Garvin Douglas, pre- 
fixed to his Virgil. 

§ Letter from the earl of surrey, to henry 

viii. Giving an account of the storm 

of jedburgh. Cott. MSS. Calig. B. III. 

fol. 29. 

" Pleisith it your grace to be advertised, that 

upon Fridaye, et x a clok at nyght, I retourned 

to this towne and all the garnysons to their 

places assigned, the bushopricke men, my lorde 

of Westmoreland, and my lorde Dacre, in like- 



; - 






310 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 

Disgraced and detested, Albany bade adieu to £& earl of Arran for some time swayed the king- 
Scotland for ever. The queen-mother and the dom. But their power was despised on the bor- 

next day I sente my seid lorde Dacre to a strong 
hold, called Fernherst, the lord whereof was his 
mortal enemy; and with hym, sir Arthur 
Darcy, sir Marmaduke Constable, with viii c of 
their men, one cortoute, and dyvers other good 
peces of ordynance for the feld (the seid Fern- 
herste stode marvelous strongly, within a grete 
woode) ; the seid twoo knights with the most 
part of their men, and Strickland, your grace 
servaunte, with my Kendall men, went into the 
woode on fote, with th' ordynance, where the 
said Kendall men were so handled, that they 
found hardy men, that went noo foote back for 
theym ; the other two knightes were also soo 
sharply assayled, that they were enforced to call 
for moo of their men ; and yet could not bring 
the ordynance to the fortress, unto the tyme my 
lord Dacrc, with part of his horsemen, lighted on 
fote ; and marvelously hardly handled himself, 
and fynally, with long skirmyshing, and moche 
difficultie, gat forthe th' ordynance within the 
howse and threwe down the same. At which 
skyrmyshe, my seid lord Dacre, and his brother, 
sir Cristofer, sir Arthure, and sir Marmaduke, 
and many other gentilmen, did marvellously 
hardly ; and found the best resistance that hath 
been seen with my comying to their parties, and 
above xxxii Scottis sleyne, and not passing iiij 
Englishmen, but above Ix hurt. Aftir that, my 
said lord retournyng to the camp, wold in no 
wise bee lodged in the same, but where he lay 
the furst nyght. And he being with me at 
souper, about viij a clok, the horses of his com- 
pany brak lowse, and sodenlyran out of his feld, 
in such nombre, that it caused a marvellouse 
alarome in our feld; and our standing watche 
being set, the horses cam ronnyng along the 
campe, at whom were shot above one hundred 
shief of arrowes, and dyvers gonnys, thinking 
they had been Scots, that wold have saulted the 
campe ; fynally, the horses were so madde, that 
they ran like wild dere into the feld ; above xv c 
at the least, in dyvere companys, and, in one 
place, above 1 felle downe a grete rok, and slewe 
theymself, and above ij c ran into the towne 
being on fire, and by the women taken, and 
carried awaye right evill brent, and many were 
taken agayne. But, finally, by that I ean 
esteme by the nombre of theym that I saw goo 
on foote the next daye, I think there is lost 
above viij c horses, and all with foly for lak of 









wise, evry man home with their companys, 
without loss of any men, thanked be God ; saving 
viii or x slayne, and dyvers hurt, at skyrmyshis 
and saults of the towne of Gedwurth, and the 
fortereissis ; which towne is soo suerly brent, 
that no garnysons ner none othqr shal bee 
lodged there, unto the tyme it bee newe buylded ; 
the brennyng whereof I comytted to twoo sure 
men, Sir William Bulmer, and Thomas Tem- 
peste. The towne was much bettir then I went 
(*. e. ween'd) it had been, for there was twoo 
tymys moo houses therein then in Berwicke, and 
well buylded, with many honest and fair houses 
therein, sufficiente to have lodged M horsemen 
in garnyson, and six good towres therein ; which 
towne and towres be clenely destroyed, brent, 
and throwen downe. Undoubtedly there was 
noo journey made into Scotland, in noo manys 
day leving, with soo fewe a nombre, that is 
recownted to be soo high an enterprice as this 
bothe with theis contremen, and Scottishmen, 
nor of truthe soo much hurte doon. But in th' 
ende a great mysfortune ded fal, onely by foly, 
that such ordere, as was commanded by me to 
be kepte, was not observed, the manner whereof 
hereaftir shall ensue. Bifore myn entre into 
Scotland, I appointed sir William Bulmer and 
sir William Evers to be marshalhs of th' army ; 
sir William Bulmer for the vanguard, and sir 
"William Evers for the reregard. In the van- 
guard I appointed my lorde of Westmoreland, 
as chief, with all the bushopricke, sir William 
Buhner, sir William Evers, my lorde Dacre, 
with all his company ; and with me remayned 
all the rest of the garnysons, and the Northum- 
berland men. I was of counsaill with the mar- 
shallis at th' ordering of our lodgingg, and our 
campe was soo well envirowned with ordynance, 
carts, and dikes, that hard it was to entre or 
issue but at certain places appointed for that 
purpos, and assigned the mooste commodious 
place of the said campe for my lord Dacre com- 
pany, next the water, and next my lord of 
Westmoreland. And at suche tyme as my lord 
Dacre came into the falde, I being at the sault 
of th' abby, which contynued unto twoo houres 
within nyght, my seid lord Dacre wolde in no- 
wise bee contente to ly within the campe, whiche 
was made right sure, but lodged himself with- 
out, wherewith, at my returne, I was not con- 
tente, but then it was too late to remove ; the ' 






BOEDER BALLADS. 



311 



ders, -where Angus, though banished, had many 
friends. Seott of Buccleuch even appropriated 
to himself domains belonging to the queen, 
worth 400 merks yearly; being probably the 
castle of Newark, and her jointure lands in 
Ettrick forest, f— This chief, with Kerr of Cess- 
ford, was committed to ward, from which they 
escaped, to join the party of the 
exiled Angus. Leagued with these 
and other border chiefs, Angus effected his re- 
turn to Scotland, where he shortly after acquired 
possession of the supreme power, and of the 
person of the youthful king. ' " The ancient 



A. D. 1525. 



not lying within the camp. I dare not write 
the wondres that my lord Dacre, and all his 
company, doo saye they sawe that nyght, vj 
tyms of spirits end fereful sights. And unyver- 
sally all their company saye playnly, the devil 
was that nyght among theym vi tymys; which 
mysfortune hath blemyshed the best journey 
that was made in Scotland many yeres. I 
assure your grace I found the Scottes, at this 
tyme, the boldest men, and the hotest, that ever 
1 sawe any nation, and all the journey, upon all 
parts of th' armye, kepte us with soo contynuall 
skyrmyshe, that I never saw the like. If they 
might assemble xl M as good men as I nowe 
sawe, xv c or ij M, it would bee a hard encoun- 
tre to mete theym. Pitie it is of my lord 
Dacres losse of the horses of his company; he 
brought with hym above iiij M. men, and came 
and lodged one night in Scotland, in his moost 
mortal enemy's contre. There is noo herdyer, 
ner bettir knyght, but often tyme he doth not 
use the most sure order, which he hath nowe 
payd derely for. Written at Berwike the xxvij 
of September. 

Tour most bownden, 

T. SURREY. 
t In a letter to the Duke of Norfolk, October 
3524, Queen Margaret says, " Sen that the Lard 
of Sessford and the Lard of Baclw vas put in the 
castell of Edinbrouh, the Erl of Lenness hath 
past hyz vay vythout lycyens, and in despyt; and 
thynkyth to make the brek that he may, and to 
solyst other lordis to tak hyz part ; for the said 
laird of Bavklw vas hyz man, and dyd the gretyst 
ewelyz that myght be dwn, and twk part playnly 
vyth theffyz as is well known." — Cst. M&S. 
Galig. B. I. 



[ power of the Douglasses," says the accurate his- 
torian, whom I have so often referred to, " seem- 
ed to have revived ; and, after a slumber of near 
a century, again to threaten destruction to 
the Scottish monarchy." — Pinkerton, vol. ii. p. 
277. 

In fact, the time now returned, when no one 
durst strive with a Douglas, or with his fol- 
lower. For, although Angus used the outward 
pageant of conducting the king around the 
country, for punishing thieves and traitors, 
" yet," says Pitscottie, " none were found greater 
than were in his own company." The high 
spirit of the young king was galled by the igno- 
minious restraint under which he found him- 
self; and, in a progress to the border, for re- 
pressing the Armstrongs, he probably gave such 
signs of dissatisfaction, as excited the laird of 
Buccleuch to attempt his rescue. 

This powerful baron was the 
chief of a hardy clan, inhabiting 
Ettrick forest, Eskdale, Ewsdale, the higher 
part of Tiviotdale, and a portion of Liddesdale. 
In this warlike district he easily levied a thou- 
sand horse, comprehending a large body of 
Elliots, Armstrongs, and other broken clans, 
over whom the laird of Buccleuch exercised an 
extensive authority; being termed, by Lord 
Dacre, " chief maintainer of all misguided men 
on the borders of Scotland." — Letter to Wclsey, 
July 18, 1528. The earl of Angus, with his 
reluctant ward, had slept at Melrose ; and the 
clans of Home and Kerr, under the Lord Home, 
and the barons of Cessford and Fairnihirst, had 
taken their leave of the king, when, in the grey 
of the morning, Buccleuch and his band of 
cavalry were discovered, hanging, like a thun- 
der-cloud, upon the neighbouring hill of Bali- 
den.:!: A herald was sent to demand his pur- 
it Near Darnick. By a corruption from Skir- 
mish field, the spot is still called the Skinners - 
field. Two lines of an old ballad on the subject 
are still preserved: — 


















312 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



pose, and to charge him to retire. To the first 
point he answered, that he came to show his 
clan to the king, according to the custom of the 
borders ; to the second, that he knew the king's 
mind better than Angus. — When this haughty 
answer was reported to the earl, " Sir," said he 
to the king, "yonder is Buccleuch, with the 
thieves of Annandale and Liddesdale, to bar 
your grace's passage. I vow to God they shall 
either fight or flee. Your grace shall tarry on 
this hillock with my brother George ; and I will 
either clear your road of yonder banditti, or die 
in the attempt." The earl, with these words, 
alighted, and hastened to the charge; while the 
earl of Lennox (at whose instigation Buccleuch 
made the attempt,) remained with the king, an 
inactive spectator. Buccleuch and his followers 
likewise dismounted, and received the assailants 
with a dreadful shout, and a shower of lances. 
The encounter was fierce and obstinate; but 
the Homes and Kerrs, returning at the noise of 
battle, bore down and dispersed the left wing of 
Buccleuch's little army. The hired banditti fled 
on all sides ; but the chief himself, surrounded 
by his clan, fought desperately in the retreat. 
The laird of Cessford, chief of the Koxburgh 
Kerrs, pursued the chase fiercely ; till, at the 
bottom of a steep path, Elliot of Stobs, a fol- 
lower of Buccleuch, turned, and slew him with 
a stroke of his lance. "When Cessford fell, the 
pursuit ceased. But his death, with those of 
Buccleuch's friends, who fell in the action, to 
the number of eighty, occasioned a deadly feud 
betwixt the names of Scott and Kerr, which cost 
much blood upon the marches.f — See Pitscottie, 
Lesly, and Godscroft. 

f Buccleuch contrived to escape forfeiture, a 
doom pronounced against those nobles, who 
assisted the earl of Lennox in a subsequent 
attempt to deliver the king, by force of arms. 
" The laird of Bukcleugh has a respecte, and is 
not forfeited ; and will get his pece, and was in 
Lethquo, both Sondaye. Mondaye, and Tewis- 
day last, which is grete displeasure to the 
Carres." — Letter from Sir C. Dacre to Lord 
Dacre, 2d December, 1526 



Stratagem at length effected 
what force had been unable to ac- 
complish ; and the king, emancipated from the 
iron tutelage of Angus, made the first use of his 
authority, by banishing from the kingdom his 
late lieutenant, and the whole race of Douglas. 
This command was not enforced without diffi- 
culty; for the power of Angus was strongly 
rooted in the east border, where he possessed 
the castle of Tantallon, and the hearts of the 
Homes and Kerrs. The former, whose strength 
was proverbial, t defied a royal army; and the 
latter, at the Pass of Pease, baffled the earl of 
Argyle's attempts to enter the Merse, as lieu- 
tenant of his sovereign. On this occasion, the 
borderers regarded with wonder and contempt 
the barbarous array and rude equipage of their 
northern countrymen. Godscroft has preserved 
the beginning of a scoffing rhyme, made upon 
this occasion: — 

The Earl of Argyle is bound to ride 
From the border of Edgebucklin brae ;§ 

And all his habergeons him beside, 
Each man upon a sonk of strae. 

They made their vow that they would slay— 

***** 

Godscroft, v. ii. p. 104. Ed. 1743. 

The pertinacious opposition of Angus to his 

doom irritated to the extreme the fiery temper 

of James, and he swore, in his wrath, that a 

Douglas should never serve him ; an oath which 

he kept in circumstances, under which the 

spirit of chivalry, which he worshipped, || should 

have taught him other feelings. 



± " To ding down Tantallon, and make a 
bridge to the Bass," was an adage expressive of 
impossibility. The shattered ruins of this cele- 
brated fortress still overhang a tremendous rock 
on the coast of East Lothian. 

§ Edgebucklin, near Musselburgh. 

[j I allude to the affecting story of Douglas of 
Kilspindie, uncle to the earl of Angus. This 
gentleman had been placed by Angus about the 
king's person, who, when a boy, loved him much 



BOEDER BALLADS. 



313 



While these transactions, by which the fate of 
Scotland was influenced, were passing upon the 
eastern bonier, the Lord ilaxwell seems to have 
exercised a most uncontrolled domination in 
Dumfries-shire. Even the power of the earl of 
Angus was exerted in vain against the banditti 
of Liddesdale, protected and bucklered by this 
mighty chief. Repeated complaints are made by 
the English residents, of the devastation occa- 
sioned by the depredations of the Elliots, Scots, 
and Armstrongs, connived at and encouraged by 
Maxwell, Buccleuch, and Fairnihirst. At a 
convention of border commissioners, it was 
agreed that the king of England, in case the 
excesses of the Liddesdale freebooters were not 
duly redressed, should be at liberty to issue let- 



on account of his singular activity of body, and 
was wont to call him his Graysteil, after a 
champion of chivalry, in the romance of Sir 
Eger and Sir Grime. He shared, however, the 
fate of his chief, and, for many years, served in 
France. Weary at length of exile, the aged 
warrior, recollecting the king's personal attach- 
ment to him, resolved to throw himself on his 
clemency. As James returned from hunting in 
the park at Stirling, he saw a person at a dis- 
tance, and, turning to his nobles, exclaimed, 
" Yonder is my Graysteil, Archibald of Kilspin- 
die ! " As he approached, Douglas threw him- 
self on his knees, and implored permission to 
lead an obseure life in his native land. But the 
name of Douglas was an amulet, which steeled 
the king's heart against the influence of com- 
passion and juvenile recollection. He passed 
the suppliant without an answer and rode 
briskly up the steep hill towards the castle. 
Kilspindie, though loaded with a hauberk under 
his clothes, kept pace with the horse, in vain 
endeavouring to catch a glance from the impla- 
cable monarch. He sat down at the gate, weary 
and exhausted, and asked for a draught of water. 
Even this was refused by the royal attendants. 
The king afterwards blamed their discourtesy : 
but Kilspindie was obliged to return to France, 
where he died of a broken heart ; the same dis- 
ease which afterwards brought to the grave his 
unrelenting sovereign. Even the stern Henry 
"VIII. blamed his nephew's conduct, quoting the 
generous saying, " A king's face should give 
grace." — Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 107. 



A. D. 1529. 



£ ters of reprisal to his injured subjects, granting 
" power to invade the said inhabitants of Lid- 
desdale, to their slaughters, burning, heirships, 
robbing, reifing, despoiling, and destruction, 
and so to continue the same at his grace's plea- 
sure," till the attempts of the inhabitants were 
fully atoned for. This impolite expedient, by 
which the Scottish prince, unable to execute 
justice on his turbulent subjects, committed to 
a rival sovereign the Power of unlimited chas- 
tisement, was a principal cause of the savage 
state of the borders. For the inhabitants, find- 
ing that the sword of revenge was substituted 
for that of justice, were loosened from their 
attachment to Scotland, and boldly threatened 
to carry on their depredations, in spite of the 
efforts of both kingdoms. 

James V., however, was not backward in 
using more honourable expedients to quell the 
banditti on the borders. The im- 
prisonment of their chiefs, and a 
noted expedition, in which many of the princi- 
pal thieves were executed (see introduction to 
the ballad, called Johnie Armstrong,) produced 
such good effects, that, according to an ancient 
picturesque history, " thereafter there was great 
peace and rest a long time, where through the 
king had great profit; for he had ten thousand 
sheep going in the Ettrick forest, in keeping by 
Andrew Bell, who made the king so good count 
of them, as they had gone in the bounds of Fife." 
Pitscottie, p. 153. 

A breach with England interrupted the tran- 
quillity of the borders. The earl 

. , __, A. D. lo^is. 
of Northumberland, a formidable 

name to Scotland, ravaged the middle marches, 
and burned Branxholm, the abode of Buccleuch, 
the hereditary enemy of the English name. 
Buccleuch, with the barons of Cessford and 
Fairnihirst, retaliated by a raid into England, 
where they acquired much spoil. 
On the east march, Fowbery was 
destroyed by the Scots, and Dunglass castle by 
> D'Arcy, and the banished Angus. 



- 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 












c: 



A short peace was quickly followed by another %z 

war which proved fatal to Scotland, and to her 

king. In the battle of Haddenrig, the English, 

and the exiled Douglasses, were defeated by the | 

lords Huntly and Home ; but this was a tran- | 

sient gleam of success. Kelso was burned, and 

. -^ -.r-Ao the borders ravaged, by the duke 
A.. JD. 1542. 

of Norfolk ; and finally, the rout 

of Solway moss, in which ten thousand men, the 
flower of the Scottish army, were dispersed and 
defeated by a band of five hundred English ca- 
valry, or rather by their own dissensions, broke 
the proud heart of James; a death more pain- 
ful a hundred -fold than was met by his father in 
the field of Flodden. 

When the strength of the Scottish army had 
sunk, without wounds, and without renown, the 
principal chiefs were led captive into England. — 
Among these was the lord Maxwell, who was 
compelled, by the menaces of Henry, to swear 
allegiance to the English monarch. There is 
still in existence the spirited instrument of vin- 
dication, by which he renounces his connection 
with England, and the honours and estates 
which had been proffered him, as the price of 
treason to his infant sovereign. From various 
bonds of manrent, it appears that all the wes- 
tern marches were swayed by this powerful 
chieftain. With Maxwell, and the 
other captives, returned to Scot- 
land the banished earl of Angus, and his bro- 
ther, Sir George Douglas, after a banishment of 
fifteen years. This powerful family regained at 
least a part of their influence upon the borders ; 
and, grateful to the kingdom which had afforded 
them protection during their exile, became \ 
chiefs of the English faction in Scotland, whose 
object it was to urge a contract of marriage 
betwixt the young queen and the heir apparent 
of England. The impetuosity of Henry, the 
ancient hatred betwixt the nations, and the 
wavering temper of the governor, Arran, pre- 
vented the success of the measure. The wrath 
of the disappointed monarch discharged itself in ^ 



. D. 1543. 



A. D. 1545. 




a wide -wasting and furious invasion of the east 
marches, conducted by the earl of Hertford. 
Seton, Home, and Buccleuch, hanging on the 
mountains of Lammermoor, saw, with ineffec- 
tual regret, the fertile plains of Merse and Lo- 
thian, and the metropolis itself, reduced to a 
smoking desert. Hertford had scarcely retreated 
with the main army, when Evers and Latoun 
laid waste the whole vale of Tiviot, with a fero- 
city of devastation hitherto unheard of.f The 
same "lion mode of wooing," being pursued 
during the minority of Edward VI., totally 
alienated the affection even of those Scots who 
were most attached to the English interest. 
The earl of Angus, in particular, united himself 
to the governor, and gave the English a sharp 
defeat at Ancram moor, a particu- 
lar account of which action is sub- 
joined to the ballad, entitled, " The Eve of St 
John." Even the fatal defeat at Pinkey, which 
at once renewed the carnage of Flodden, and 
the disgrace of Solway, served to prejudice the 
cause of the victors. The borders saw, with 
dread and detestation, the ruinous fortress of 
Roxburgh once more receive an English garri- 
son, and the widow of Lord Home driven from 
his baronial castle, to make room 
for the "Southern Reivers." Many 
of the barons made a reluctant submission to 
Somerset; but those of the higher part of the 
marches remained among their mountains, 
meditating revenge. A similar incursion was 
made on the west borders by Lord Wharton, 

f In Hayne's State Papers, from p. 43 to p. 
64, is an account of these destructive forays. 
One list of the places burned and destroyed enu- 
merates — 
Monasteries and Freehouses, . . 7 

Castles, towers, and piles, . . .16 
Market towns, .... 5 

Villages, 243 

Mylnes, ..... 13 

Spytells and hospitals, ... 3 

See also official accounts of these expeditions, in 
Dalyell's Fragments. 



A. D. 1547. 



BORDER BALLADS. 



315 



who, with five thousand men, ravaged and #> 
overrun Annandale, Nithsdale, and Galloway, 
compelling the inhabitants to receive the yoke 
of England. f 

The arrival of French auxiliaries, and of 
French gold, rendered vain the splendid suc- 



f Patten gives us a list of those east border 
chiefs who did homage to the duke of Somerset, 
on the 24th of September, 1547 ; namely, the 
lairds of Cessforth, Fernyherst, G-renehead, 
Hunthill, Hundely, Makerstone, Bymerside, 
Bounjedworth, Ormeston, Mellestaines, War- 
mesay, Synton, Egerston, Merton, Howe, Ry- 
dell, Beamerside. Of gentlemen, he enumerates 
George Tromboul, Jhon Haliburton, Robert Car, 
Robert Car of Greyden, Adam Kirton, Andrew 
Mether, Saunders Purvose of Erleston, Mark 
Car of Littledean, George Car of Faldenside, 
Alexander Mackdowal, Charles Rutherford, 
Thomas Car of the Yere, Jhon Car of Meynthorn 
(Nenthorn), Walter Holiburton, Richard Han- j 
gansyde, Andrew Car, James Douglas of Cavers, 
James Car of Mersington, George Hoppringle, 
"William Ormeston of Emerden, John Grym- 
slowe. — Patten, in Dalyell's Fragments, p. 87. 

On the west border, the following barons and 
clans submitted and gave pledges to Lord Whar- 
ton, that they would serve the king of England, 
with the number of followers annexed to their 
names : — 

Annkrdale. 
Laird of Kirkmighel, 

Rose, ..... 

Hempsfield, 

Home Ends, 

Wamfrey, 

Dunwoddy, .... 

Newby and Gratney, 

■ Tinnel, (Tinwald), 

Patrick Murray, .... 

Christie TJrwin, (Irving), of Coveshawe, 

Cuthbert Urwen of Robbgill, . 

Urwens of Sennersack, 

Wat Urwen, 

Jeffrey Urwen, . 

T. Johnston of Crackburn, 

James Johnston of Coites, . 

Johnstons of Cragiryland, 

Johnstons of Driesdell, 

Johnstons of Malinshaw, 

Gawen Johnston, 

Will Johnston, the laird's brother, 



165 



. 102 



102 



34 



93 



110 



cesses of the English. One by one, the fortresses 
which they occupied were recovered by force, or 
by stratagem; and the vindictive cruelty of 
the Scottish borderers made dreadful retaliation 
for the injuries they had sustained. An idea 
may be conceived of this horrible warfare, from 

Robin Johnston of Lochmaben, . . 67 

Laird of Gillersbie, 3o 

Moffits, 24 

Bells of Tostints, 142 

Bells of Tindills, .... 222 

Sir John Lawson, . . . .32 

Town of Annan, .... 33 

Rooms of Tordephe, . . 32 

IflTHSDALE. 

Mr. Maxwell and more, . . . 1000 

Laird of Closeburn, .... 403 

Lag, 202 

- - Cransfield, .... 27 

Mr. Ed. Creighton, .... 10 

Laird of Cowhill, .... 91 
Maxwells of Brackenside, and vicar of Carla- 

verick, 310 

Annerdale and Gal way. 
Lord Carlisle, 101 

Annerdale and Clidsdale. 
Laird of Applegirth, .... 242 

LlDDESDALE AND DeBATEABXE LAND. 

Armstrongs, 300 

Elwoods, (Elliots), .... 74 

Nixons, ...... 32 

Gallowat. 
Laird of Dawbaylie, .... 41 
Orcherton, ..... Ill 

Carlisle, 206 

Loughenwar, 45 

Tutor of Bombie, . . . .140 

Abbot of Xewabbey, . . . 141 

Town of Dumfries, . . . .201 

Town of Kircubrie, .... 36 

Tividale. 
Laird of Drumlire, .... 364 
Caruthers, ..... 71 

Trumbells, 12 

Eskdale. 
Battisons and Thomsons, . . . 166 

Total, 7008 men under English assurance. 
Nicolson, from Bell's MS. Introduction to His- 
tory of Cumberland, p. 65. 




316 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



the memoirs of Beauge, a French officer, serving ^ 
in Scotland. 

The castle of Fairnihirst, situated about three 
miles above Jedburgh, had been taken and gar- 
risoned by the English. The commander and 
his followers are accused of such excesses of lust 
and cruelty, " as would," says Beauge, "have 
made to tremble the most savage Moor in 
Africa." A band of Frenchmen, with the laird 

. -rv i,r,rw of Fairnihirst, and his borderers, 
A. D. 1549. 

assaulted this fortress. The Eng- 
lish archers showered their arrows down the 
steep ascent leading to the castle, and from the 
outer wall . by which it was surrounded. A 
vigorous escalade, however, gained the base 
court, and the sharp fire of the French arque- 
busiers drove the bowmen into the square keep, 
or dungeon, of the fortress. Here the English 
defended themselves, till a breach in the wall 
was made by mining. Through this hole the 
commandant creeped forth ; and, surrendering 
himself to De la Mothe-rouge, implored protec- 
tion from the vengeance of the borderers. But 
a Scottish marchman, eyeing in the captive the 
ravisher of his wife, approached him ere the 
French officer could guess his intention, and, at 
one blow, carried his head four paces from the 
trunk. Above a hundred Scots rushed to wash 
their hands in the blood of their oppressor, ban- 
died about the severed head, and expressed their 
joy in such shouts, as if they had stormed the 
city of London. The prisoners, who fell into their 
merciless hands, were put to death, after their 
eyes had been torn out ; the victors contending 
who should display the greatest address in sever- 
ing their legs and arms, before inflicting a mor- 
tal wound. "When their own prisoners were 
slain, the Scottish, with an unextinguishable 
thirst for blood, purchased those of the French ; 
parting willingly with their very arms, in ex- 
change for an English captive. " I myself," 
says Beauge, with military sans-froid, "I my- 
self sold them a prisoner for a small horse. 
They laid him down upon the ground, galloped 



A. D. 1522. 



over him with their lances in rest, and wounded 
him as they passed. When slain, they cut his 
body in pieces, and bore the mangled gobbets, 
in triumph, on the points of their spears. I can - 
not greatly praise the Scottish for this practice. 
But the truth is, that the English tyrannised 
over the borders in a most barbarous manner ; 
and I think it was but fair to repay them, 
according to the proverb, in their own coin." — 
Campagnes de Beauge. 

A peace, in 1551, put an end to this war ; the 
most destructive which, for a length of time, 
had ravaged Scotland. Some attention was 
paid by the governor and queen -mother, to the 
administration of justice on the border ; and 
the chieftains, who had distinguished themselves 
during the late troubles, received the honour of 
knighthood, f 

At this time, also, the DebateableLand, a tract 
of country, situated betwixt the 
Esk and Sarke, claimed by both 
kingdoms, was divided by royal commissioners, 
appointed by the two crowns. — By their award, 
this land of contention was separated by a line, 
drawn from east to west, betwixt the rivers. 
The upper half was adjudged to Scotland, and 
the more eastern part to England. Yet the 
Debateable Land continued long after to be the 
residence of the thieves and banditti, to whom 
its dubious state had afforded a desirable refuge. * 

In 1557, a new war broke out, in which ren- 
counters on the borders were, as usual, numer- 

f These were the lairds of Buccleuch, Cessford, 
and Fairnihirst, Littleden, Grenehed, and Cold- 
ingknows. Buccleuch, whose gallant exploits 
we have noticed, did not long enjoy his new hon- 
ours. He was murdered, in the streets of Edin- 
burgh, by his hereditary enemies, the Kerrs, 
anno 1552. 

$ The jest of James VI. is well known, who, 
when a favourite cow had found her way from 
London, back to her native country of Fife, 
observed, "that nothing surprised him so much 
as her passing uninterrupted "through the De- 
i bateable Land ! " 



BOEDER BALLADS. 



317 



oaj, and with varied success. In some of these, 
the too famous Bothwell is said to have given 
proofs of his courage, which was at other times 
very questionable.! About this time the Scot- 
tish borderers seem to have acquired some 
ascendency over their southern neighbours. — 
Strype, vol. iii. p. 437.— In 1559, peace was again 
restored. 

The flame of reformation, long stifled in Scot- 
land, now burst forth, with the violence of a 
volcanic eruption. The siege of Leith was com- 
menced, by the combined forces of the Congre- 
gation and of England. The borderers cared 
little about speculative points of religion ; but 
they showed themselves much interested in the 
treasures which passed through their coun- 
try, for payment of the English forces at Edin- 
burgh. Much alarm was excited, lest the march- 
ers should intercept these weighty Protestant 
arguments; and it was, probably, by volun- 
tarily imparting a share in them to Lord Home, 
that he became a sudden convert to the new 
faith, x 

Upon the arrival of the ill-fated Mary in her 
native country, she found the borders in a state 

f He was lord of Liddesdale, and keeper of the 
Hermitage castle. But he had little effective 
power over that country, and was twice defeated 
by the Armstrongs, its lawless inhabitants. — 
Border History, p. 584. Yet the unfortunate 
Mary, in her famous Apology, says, "that in 
the weiris against Ingland, he gaif proof of his 
valyentes, courage, and gude conduct;" and 
praises him especially for subjugating "the 
rebellious subjectis inhabiting the cuntreis lying 
ewest the marches of Ingland." — Keith, p. 388. 
He appears actually to have defeated Sir Henry 
Percy, in a skirmish, called the Eaid of Halt- 
wellswire. 

% This nobleman had, shortly before, threa- 
tened to spoil the English east march; " but/' 
says the duke of Norfolk, " we have provided 
such sauce for him, that I think he will not 
deal in such matter; but, if he do fire but one 
hay-goff, he shall not go to Home again without 
torch -light, and, peradventure, may find a lan- 
thorn at his own house." 



& of great disorder. The exertions of her natural 
brother (afterwards the famous regent Murray; 

■ were necessary to restore some degree of tran- 
quillity. He marched to Jedburgh, executed 

i twenty or thirty of the transgressors, burned 
many houses, and brought a number of prison - 

\ ers to Edinburgh. The chieftains of the princi- 
pal clans were also obliged to grant pledges for 
their future obedienc?. A noted convention 
(for the particulars of which, see Border Laws, 
p. 84,) adopted various regulations, ■which were 
attended with great advantage to the marches. § 
The unhappy match betwixt Henry Darnley 

j and his sovereign led to new dissensions on the 

! borders. The Homes, Kerrs, and other east 
marches, hastened to support the queen, against 
Murray, Chatelherault, and other nobles, whom 
her marriage had offended. For the same pur- 
pose, the Johnstones, Jardines, and clans of 
Annan dale, entered into bonds of confederacy. 
But Liddesdale was under the influence of 
England ; in so much, that Eandolph, the Eng- 
lish minister, proposed to hire a band of Strap- 
ping Elliots, to find Home business at home, in 
looking after his corn and cattle.— Keith, p. 265. 
App. 133. 

This storm was hardly overblown, when Both- 
well received the commission of lieutenant upon 
the borders ; but, as void of parts as of princi- 
ple, he could not even recover to the queen's 
allegiance his own domains in Liddesdale. — 
Keith, App. 165. The queen herself advanced to 
the borders, to remedy this evil, and to hold 
courts at Jedburgh. Bothwell was already in 
Liddesdale, where he had been severely wounded, 
in an attempt to seize John Elliot, of the Parke, 
a desperate freebooter ; and happy had it been 
for Mary, had the dagger of the mosstrooper 
struck more home. Bothwell, being transported 



§ The commissioners on the English side were, 
the elder Lord Scroope of Bolton, Sir John Pos- 
ter, Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Dr. Eookby. On 
the Scottish side appeared, Sir John Maxwell of 
•&? Terreagles, and Sir John Bellenden. 



518 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



wa 



SI 



w 



to his castle of Hermitage, the queen, upon hear- < 
ing the tidings, hastened thither. A dangerous 
morass, still called the Queen's Mire.j is pointed 
out by tradition as the spot where the lovely 
Mary, and her white palfrey, were in danger of 
perishing. The distance betwixt Hermitage and 
Jedburgh, by the way of Hawick, is nearly 
twenty-four English miles. The queen went 
and returned the same day. Whether she 
visited a wounded subject, or a lover in danger, 
has been warmly disputed in our latter days. 

To the death of Henry Darnley, it is said, some 
of the border lords were privy. But the subse- 
quent marriage betwixt the queen and Both- 
well, alienated from her the affections of the 
chieftains of the marches, most of whom aided 
the association of the insurgent barons. A few 
gentlemen of the Merse, however, joined the 
army which Mary brought to Carberry-hill. But 
no one was willing to fight for the detested 
Bothwell, nor did Bothwell himself show any 
inclination to put his person in jeopardy. The 
result to Mary was a rigorous captivity in Loch- 
leven castle ; and the name of Bothwell scarcely 
again pollutes the page of Scottish history. 

The distress of a beautiful and afflicted prin- 
cess softened the hearts of her subjects; and,when 
she escaped from her severe captivity, the most 
powerful barons in Scotland crowded around 
her standard. Among these were many of the 
west border men, under the lords Maxwell and 



f The Queen's Mire is still a pass of danger, 
exhibiting in many places the bones of the 
horses which have been entangled in it. For 
what reason the queen chose to enter Liddes- 
dale by the circuitous route of Hawick, does not 
appear. There are two other passes from Jed- 
burgh to Hermitage castle ; the one by the Note 
of the Gate, the other over the mountain called 
Winburgh. Either cf these, but especially the 
latter, is several miles shorter than that by Ha- 
wick and the Queen's Mire. But, by the cir- 
cuitous way of Hawick, the queen could traverse 
the districts of more friendly clans, than by go- 
ing directly into the disorderly province of Lid- 
desdale. 



Herries.f But the defeat at Langside was a 
death-blow to her interest in Scotland. 

Not long afterwards occurred that period of 
general confusion on the borders, when tho in- 
surrection of the Catholic earls of Northum- 
berland and Westmoreland took place upon the 
borders of England. Their tumultuary forces 
were soon dispersed, and the earls themselves, 
with their principal followers, sought refuge 
upon the Scottish marches. Northumberland 
was betrayed into the hands of the regent ; but 
Westmoreland, with his followers, took refuge 
in the castle of Farnihirst, where he was pro- 
tected by its powerful owner. The regent him - 
self came to Jedburgh, to obtain possession of 
these important pledges; but as he marched 
towards the castle of Farnihirst, his men shrunk 
from him by degrees, till he was left with a 
small body of his own personal dependants, in- 
adequate to the task for which he had undertaken 
the expedition. Westmoreland afterwards es- 
caped to Flanders by sea. Robert Constable, a 
spy sent by Sir Ralph Sadler into Scotland, giv, s- 
a lively account of the state of the borders at 
this time.§ 



i The followers of these barons are said to have 
stolen the horses of their friends, while they 
were engaged in the battle. 

§ He was guided by one Pyle of Millheuch, 
(upon Oxnam water,) and gives the following 
account of his conversation with him on the 
state of the country, and the power of his mas- 
ter, the baron of Farnihirst :— " By the way as 
we rode, I tould my oste that the lord of Farne- 
herst, his master, had taken such an enterprise 
in hand as not a subject in England durst do 
the like, to kepe any mann openly as he did the 
earle of Westmorland, against the will of the 
chief in aucthoritie. He said that his master 
cared not so much for the regent as the regent 
cared for him, for he was well able to raise iij 
thousand men within his own rule, beside that 
his first wief, by whom he hed goodly children, 
was daughter to the lord Grange, captaine of 
Edenborowe castell, and provost of Edenborowe. 
This wief that he married lately is sister to the 
lord of Bucclewghe, a man of greater power then 
his master ; also my lord Eume, and almost all 



The death of the regent Murray, in 1569, 
excited the party of Mary to hope and to exer- 
tion. It seems, that the design of Bothwell- 
haugh, who slew him, was well known upon the 
borders ; for, the very day on which the slaugh- 
ter happened, Buccleuch and Fairnihirst, with 
their clans, broke into England, and spread 
devastation along the frontiers, with unusual 
ferocity. It is probable they well knew that 
the controlling hand of the regent was that day 
palsied by death. Buchanan exclaims loudly 
against this breach of truce with Elizabeth,charg- 
ing queen Mary's party with having " houndit 
furth proude and uncircumspecte young men, 
to hery, burne, and slay, and tak prisoners, in 
her realme, and use all misordour and crueltie, 
not only usit in weir, but detestabil to all barbar 
and wild Tartaris, in slaying of prisoneris, and 
contrair to all humanitie and justice, keeping na 
promeis to miserabil captives resavit anis to 
thair mercy." — Admonitioun to the tretv Lordis, 
Striveling, 1571. He numbers, among these 
insurgents, highlanders as well as borderers, 
Buccleuch and Fairnihirst, the Johnstons and 
Armstrongs, the Grants, and the clan Chattan. 

the gentlemen in Tevydale, the Marsh, and 
Lowdyan, were knitt together in such friend- 
ship that they are agreed all to take one part ; 
and that the lord Grange was offended with the 
lord Hume and the lord Farneherst, because 
they toke not the earle of Northumberland from 
my lord regent at Gedworthe, and sent plane 
word to the lord Farneherst, that if the lord 
regent came any more to seeke him in Tevydale, 
he should lose all his bulles, both the duke, the 
lord Herris, the secretary, and others, he should 
sett them all at libertye that would come with 
all their power, with good will, to take his part; 
and by as much as I hear since, the Tevydale 
menn pretends to do the anoyances that they 
can to England, so sone as this storme is past, 
and meanes not to answer to any day of truce." 
Another passage presents a lively picture of 
the inside of the outlaw's cabin — "I left Farne- 
herst, and went to my ostes house, where I 
found many gests of dyvers factions, some out- 
la wes of Ingland, some of Scotland, some neigh- 



Besides these powerful clans. Mary numbered 
among her adherents the Maxwells, and almost 
all the west border leaders, excepting Drum- 
lanrig, and Jardine of Applegirth. On the 
eastern border, the faction of the infant king 
was more powerful; for, although deserted by 
lord Home, the greater part of his clan, under 
the influence of "VVedderburn, remained attached 
to that party. The laird of Cessford wished 
them well, and the earl of Angus naturally fol- 
lowed the steps of his uncle Morton. A sharp 
and bloody invasion of the middle march, under 
the command of the earl of Sussex, avenged 
with interest the raids of Buccleuch and Fairni- 
hirst. The domains of these chiefs were laid 
waste, their castles burned and destroyed. The 
narrow vales of Beaumont and Kale, belonging 
to Buccleuch, were treated with peculiar seve- 
rity ; and the forays of Hertford were equalled 
by that of Sussex. In vain did the chiefs request 
assistance from the government to defend their 
fortresses. Through the predominating interest 
of Elizabeth in the Scottish councils, this was 
refused to all but Home, whose castle, neverthe- 
less, again received an English garrison; while 

bors therabout, at cards; some for ale, some for 
plake and hardhedds; and after that I had : , 
diligently learned and enquired that there was 
none of any surname that had me in deadly 
fude, nor none that knew me, 1 sat downe, and 
plaid for harhedds emongs them, where I hard, 
vox populi, that the lord regent would not, for 
his own honor, nor for thonor of his countery, 
deliver the earles, if he had them bothe, tiniest 
it were to have there quene delivered to him, 
and if he wold agre to make that change, the 
borderers wold stert up in his contrai*y, and 
reave both the quene and the lords from him, 
for the like shame was never done in Scotland ; 
and that he durst better eate his owne luggs then 
come again to seke Farneherst; if he did, he 
should be fought with ere he came over Sowtrey 
edge. Hector of Tharlowes hedd was wished to 
have been eaten among us at supper."— Sad- 
ler's State Papers, Edin. 1809, vol. ii. pp. 384, 







■ \ 




320 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Buccleuch and Faimihirst complained bitterly > 
that those, who had instigated their invasion, 
durst not even come so far as Lauder, to show 
countenance to their defence against the Eng- 
lish. The bickerings, which followed, distracted 
the whole kingdom. One celebrated exploit may 
be selected, as an illustration of the border 
fashion of war. 

The earl of Lennox, who had succeeded Mur- 
ray in the regency, held a parliament at Stir- 
ling, in 1571. The young king was exhibited to 
the great council of his nation. He had been 
tutored to repeat a set speech, composed for the 
occasion; but observing that the roof of the 
building was a little decayed, he interrupted his 
recitation, and exclaimed, with childish levity, 
" that there was a hole in the parliament," — 
words which, in these days, were held to pre- 
sage the deadly breach shortly to be made in 
that body, by the death of him in whose name 
it was convoked. 

Amid the most undisturbed security of con- 
fidence, the lords, who composed this parlia- 
ment, were roused at day- break by the shouts of 
their enemies in the heart of the town. God 
and the Queen! resounded from every quarter, 
and, in a few minutes, the regent, with the 
astonished nobles of his party, were prisoners to 
a band of two hundred border cavalry, led by 
Scott of Buccleuch, and to the Lord Claud 
Hamilton, at the head of three hundred infan- 
try. These enterprising chiefs, by a rapid and 
well-concerted manoeuvre, had reached Stirling 
in a night march from Edinburgh, and, without 
so much as being bayed at by a watch-dog, had 
seized the principal street of the town. The 
fortunate obstinacy of Morton saved his party. 
Stubborn and undaunted, he defended his house 
till the assailants set it in flames, and then 
yielded wth reluctance to his kinsman, Buc- 
cleuch. But the time which he had gained 
effectually served his cause. The borderers had 
dispersed to plunder the stables of the nobility ; 
the infantry thronged tumultously together on 



the main street, when the earl of Mar, issuing 
from the castle, placed one or two small piece* 
of ordnance in his own half-huilt house, f which 
commands the market place. Hardly had the 
artillery begun to scour the street, when the 
assailants, surprised in their turn, fled with pre- 
cipitation. Their alarm was increased by the 
townsmen thronging to arms. Those who had 
been so lately triumphant, were now, in many 
instances, asking the protection of their own pri- 
soners. In all probability, not a man would have 
escaped death, or captivity, but for the charac- 
teristic rapacity of Buccleuch's marauders, who, 
having seized and carried off all the horses in 
the town, left the victors no means of following 
the chase. The regent was slain by an officer, 
named Caulder, in order to prevent his being 
rescued. Spens of Ormiston, to whom he had 
surrendered, lost his life in a generous attempt 
to protect him4 Hardly does our history pre- 



f This building still remains in the unfinished 
state which it then presented. 

i Birrel says, that " the regent was shot by an 
unhappy fellow, while sitting on horseback be- 
hind the laird of Buccleuch." — The following 
curious account of the whole transaction, is 
extracted from a journal of principal events in 
the years 1570, 1571, 1572, and part of 1573, kept 
by Richard Bannatyne, amanuensis to John 
Knox. " The fourt of September, they of Edin- 
burgh, horsemen and futmen (and, as was 
reported, the most part of Clidisdaill, that per- 
tenit to the Hamiltons), come to Striveling, the 
number of iii or iiii c men, on hors bak, guydit 
be ane George Bell, their hacbutteris being all 
horsed, enterit in Striveling, be fyve houris in 
the morning (whair thair was never one to mak 
watche), crying this slogene, 'God and the 
queen ! ane Hamiltoune ! think on the bishop of 
St. Androis, all is owres ; ' and so a certaine 
come to everie grit manis ludgane, and appre- 
hendit the lordis Mortoun and Glencarnej but 
Mortounis hous they set on fyre, wha randerit 
him to the loird of Balcleuch. Wormestoun 
being appointed to the regentes hous, desyred 
him to cum furth, which he had no will to doe, 
yet, be perswasione of Garleys and otheris, with 
him, tho't it best to come in will, nor to byde 








BOEDER BALLADS. 



6ent another enterprise, so well planned, so 
happily commenced, and so strangely discon- 
certed. To the licence of the marchmen the 
failure was attributed; but the same cause 
ensured a safe retreat. — Spottisrvoode, Godscroft, 
Robertson, Melville. 

The wily earl of Morton, who, after the short 
intervening regency of Mar, succeeded to the 
supreme authority, contrived, by force or arti- 
fice, to render the party of the king every where 
superior. Even on the middle borders, he had 
the address to engage in his cause the powerful, 
5 though savage and licentious, clans of Ruther- 
ford and Turnbull, as well as the citizens of Jed- 
burgh. He was thus enabled to counterpoise 
his powerful opponents, Buccleuch and Fairni- 
hirst, in their own country ; and, after an un- 
successful attempt to surprise Jedburgh, even 
these warm adherents of Mary relinquished her 
cause in despair. 

While Morton swayed the state, his attach- 
ment to Elizabeth, and the humiliation which 
many of the border chiefs had undergone, con- 
tributed to maintain good order on the marches, 
till James VI. himself assumed the reins of 
government.— The intervening skirmish of the 

the extremitie, becaus they supposed there was 
no resistance, and swa the regent come furth, 
and was randered to Wormestoune, under pro- 
meis to save his lyfe. Captane Crawfurde, 
being in the town, gat sum men out of the 
castell, and uther gentlemen being in the town, 
come as they my't best to the geat, chased them 
out of the town. The regent was shot by ane 
Captain Cader, who confessed that he did it at 
commande of George Bell, wha was comandit 
so to doe be the lord Huntlie and Claud Hamil- 
ton. Some sayis, that Wormestoun was schot 
by the same sehot that slew the regent, but 
alwayis he was slane, notwithstanding the 
regent cryed to save him, but it culd not be, the 
furie was so grit of the persewaris, who following 
so fast, the lord of Mortone said to Balcleuch, 
i I sail save you as you savit. me,' and so he was 
tane. Garleys, and sindrie otheris, war slane 
at the port, in the persute of thame. Thair war 
ten or twelve gentlemen slane of the king's folk, ^ 



j& Reldswire, (see the ballad under that title) was 
but a sudden explosion of the rivalry and sup- 
pressed hatred of the borderers of both king- 
doms. In truth, the stern rule of Morton, and 
of his delegates, men unconnected with the bor. 
ders by birth, maintained in that country more 
strict discipline than had ever been there exer- 
cised. Perhaps this hastened his fall. 

The unpopularity of Morton, acquired partly 
by the strict administration of justice, and partly 
by avarice and severity, forced him from the 
regency. In 1578, he retired, apparently, from 
state affairs, to his castle of Dalkeith ; which the 
populace, emphatically expressing their awe and 
dread of his person, termed the Lion's Den t 
But Morton could not live in retirement; and, 
early in the same year, the aged lion again 
rushed from his cavern. By a mixture of policy 
and violence, he possessed himself of the fortress 
of Stirling, and of the person of James. His 
nephew, Angus, hastened to his assistance. 
Against him appeared his follower Cessfoid, 
with many of the Homes, and the citizens of 
Edinburgh. Alluding to the restraint of the 
king's person, they bore his effigy on their ban- 
ners, with a rude rhyme, demanding liberty or 

and als mony of theiris, or mea, as was said, and 
a dozen or xvi tane. Twa especiall servantis 
of the lord Argyle's were slane also. This Cader, 
that schot the regent, was once turned bak off 
the toune, and was send again (as is said), be 
the lord Huntlie, to cause Wormistouu retire ; 
but, before he come agane, he was dispatched, 
and had gottin deidis woundis. 

The regent being sehot (as said is), was brought 
to the castel, whar he callit for ane phisitione, 
one for his soule, ane uther for his bodie. But 
all hope of life was past, for he was schot in his 
entreallis ; and swa, after sumthinds spokin to 
the lordis, which I know not, he departed in the t 
feare of God, and made a blessed end; whilk 
the rest of the lordis, that tho't thame to his 
hiert, and lytle reguardit him, shall not mak so 
blised an end, unles they mend their maneirs." 

This curious manuscript has been lately pub- 
lished, under the inspection of John Graham 
Dalyell, Esq. 



(J&) 



r^. 



W 



<s 






§b] 



J 



death. — Birrel's Diary, ad annum, 1578. The ^ 
earl of Morton marched against his foes as far 
as Falkirk, and a desperate action must have 
ensued, but for the persuasion of Bowes, the 
English ambassador. The only blood, then 
spilt, was in a duel betwixt Tait, a follower of 
Cessford, and Johnstone, a west border man, 
attending upon Angus. They fought with 
lances, and on horseback, according to the 
fashion of the borders. — The former was un- 
horsed and slain, the latter desperately wounded. 
— Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 261. The prudence of the 
late regent appears to have abandoned him, 
when he was decoyed into a treaty upon this 
occasion. It was not long before Morton, the 
veteran warrior, and the crafty statesman, was 
forced to bend his neck to an engine of death,f 
the use of which he himself had introduced into 
Scotland. 

Released from the thraldom of Morton, the 
king, with more than youthful levity, threw his 
supreme power into the hands of Lennox and 
Arran. The religion of the first, and the infa- 
mous character of the second favourite, excited 
the hatred of the commons, while their exclu- 
sive and engrossing power awakened the jea- 
lousy of the other nobles. James, doomed to 
be the sport of contending factions, was seized at 
Stirling by the nobles, confederated in what wa3 
termed the Raid of Ruthven. But the conspira- 
tors soon suffered their prize to escape, and were 
rewarded for their enterprize by exile or death. 

In 1585, an affray took place at a border meet- 
ing, in which lord Russel, the earl of Bedford's 
eldest son, chanced to be slain. Queen Eliza- 
beth imputed the guilt of this slaughter to 
Thomas Ker of Fairnihirst, instigated by Arran. 
Upon the imperious demand of the English am- 
bassador, both were committed to prison ; but 
the minion, Arran, was soon restored to liberty 
and favour ; while Fairnihirst, the dread of the 

f A rude sort of guillotine, called the maiden. 
The implement is now in possession of the So- 
ciety of Scottish Antiquaries. 



English borderers, and the gallant defender of 
queen Mary, died in his confinement, of a bro- 
ken heart.— Spottisrvoode, p. 341. 

The tyranny of Arran becoming daily more in- 
supportable, the exiled lords, joined by Maxwell, 
Home, Bothwell, and other border chieftains, 
seized the town of Stirling, which was pillaged 
by their disorderly followers, invested the castle, 
which surrendered at discretion, and drove the 
favourite from the king's council. $ 

The king, perceiving the earl of Bothwell 
among the armed barons, to whom he surren- 
dered his person, addressed him in these pro- 
phetic words : — " Francis, Francis, what moved 
thee to come in arms against thy prince, who 
never wronged thee ? I wish thee a more quiet 
spirit, else I foresee thy destruction." — Spottis- 
rvoode, p. 343. 

In fact, the extraordinary enterprizes of this 
nobleman disturbed the next ten years of 
James's reign. Francis Stuart, son to a bastard 
of James V., had been invested with the titles 
and estates belonging to his maternal uncle, 
James Hepburn, earl of Bothwell, upon the for- 
feiture of that infamous man ; and consequently 
became lord of Liddesdale, and of the castle of 
Hermitage. — This acquisition of power upon the 
borders, where he could easily levy followers 
willing to undertake the most desperate enter- 
prize, joined to the man's native daring and vio- 
lent spirit, rendered Bothwell the most turbulent 
insurgent that ever disturbed the tranquillity 
of a kingdom. During the king's absence in 
Denmark, Bothwell, swayed by the superstition 
of his age, had tampered with certain sooth- 
sayers and witches, by whose pretended art he 
hoped to foretell, or perhaps to achieve, the 

% The associated nobles seem to have owed 
their success chiefly to the border spearmen ; 
for, though they had a band of mercenaries, 
who used fire-arms, yet they were such bad 
masters of their craft, their captain was heard 
to observe, " that those, who knew his soldiers 
as well as he did, would hardly chuse to march 
before them." — Godscrojt, v. ii. p. 368, 



*rf~^\ 



. 



6t^ 



death of his monarch. In one of the courts of 
inquisition, which James delighted to hold upon 
the professors of the occult sciences, some of his 
cousin's proceedings were brought to light, for 
which he was put in ward in the castle of Edin- 
burgh. Burning with revenge, he broke from 
his confinement, and lurked for some time upon 
the borders, where he hoped for the counten- 
ance of his son-in-law, Buccleuch. Undeterred 
by the absence of that chief, who, in obedience 
=3 to the royal command, had prudently retired to 
-V France, Bothwell attempted the desperate en- 
H terprize of seizing the person of the king, while 
residing in his metropolis. At the dead of the 
- . night, followed by a band of borderers, he occu- 
\l . ~i Pied the court of the palace of Rolyrood, and 
p began to burst open the doors of the royal 
llM apartments. The nobility, distrustful of each 
f^vV other, and ignorant of the extent of the con- 
spiracy, only endeavoured to make good the 
defence of their separate lodgings ; but darkness 
and confusion prevented the assailants from 
profiting by their disunion. Melville, who was 
present, gives a lively picture of the scene of dis- 
-,. order, transiently illuminated by the glare of 
(%sr s J passing torches; while the report of fire-arms, 
Ir. the clatter of armour, the din of hammers thun- 
S dering on the gates, mingled wildly with the 
way-cry of the borderers, who shouted inces- 
santly, '* Justice ! Justice ! A Bothwell ! A Both- 
well ! " The citizens of Edinburgh at length 
began to assemble for the defence of their sove- 
reign ; and Bothwell was compelled to retreat, 
which he did without considerable loss. — Mel- 
'-^L/ ville, p. 356. A similar attempt on the person 
of James, while residing at Faulkland, also mis- 
gave; but the credit which Bothwell obtained 
on the borders, by these bold and desperate 
__ enterprizes, was incredible. "All Tiviotdale," 
v r 6ays Spottiswoode, " ran after him ; " so that he 
'Ajp^S finally obtained his object ; and, at Edinburgh, 
in 1593, he stood before James, an unexpected 
apparition, with his naked sword in his hand. 
u Strike!" said James, with royal dignity— 



m 



" Strike, and end thy work ! I will not survive 
my dishonour." But Bothwell, with unex- 
pected moderation, only stipulated for remission 
of his forfeiture, and did not even ii sist on 
remaining at court, whence his party was shortly 
expelled, by the return of the lord Home, and 
his other enemies. Incensed at this reverse, 
Bothwell levied a body of four hundred cavalry, 
and attacked the king's guard in broad day, 
upon the Borough Moor near Edinburgh. — The 
ready succour of the citizens saved James from 
falling once more into the hands of his turbu- 
lent subject, f On a subsequent day, Bothwell 
met the laird of Cessford, riding near Edin- 
burgh, with whom he fought a single combat, 
which lasted for two hours. % But his credit was 
now fallen ; he retreated to England, whence 
he was driven by Elizabeth, and then wandered 
to Spain and Italy, where he subsisted, in indi- 
gence and obscurity, on the bread which he 
earned by apostatizing to the faith of Rome. 
So fell this agitator of domestic broils, whose 
name passed into a proverb, denoting a power- 
ful and turbulent demagogue.§ 

f Spottiswoode says, the king awaited this 
charge with firmness ; but Birrel avers, that he 
fled upon the gallop. The same author, instead 
of the firm deportment of James, when seized 
by Bothwell, describes "the king's majestie as 
flying down the back stair, with his breeches in 
his hand, in great fear." — Birrell, apud Dalyell, 
p. 30. Such is the difference betwixt the narra- 
tive of the courtly archbishop, and that of the 
presbyterian burgess of Edinburgh. 

± This rencounter took place at Humbie, in 
East Lothian. Bothwell was attended by a 
servant, called Gibson, and Cessford by one of 
the Rutherfords, who was hurt in the cheek. 
The combatants parted from pure fatigue; for 
the defensive armour of the times was so com- 
pletely impenetrable, that the wearer seldom 
sustained much damage by actual wounds. 

§ Sir Walter Raleigh, in writing of Essex, 
then in prison, says, "Let the queen hold Both- 
well while she hath him." — Murdin, vol. ii. p. 
812. It appears from Creichton's Memoirs, that 
Both well's grandson, though so nearly related 



£3k 



i=rw 



(*Y3y 




While these scenes were passing in the metro- 
polis, the borders were furiously agitated by civil 
discord. The families of Cess-ford and Fairni- 
hirst disputed their right to the wardenry of the 
middle marches, and to the provostry of Jed- 
burgh; and William Kerr of Aneram, a fol- 
lower of the latter, was murdered by the young 
chief of Cessford, at the instigation of his mother. 
Spottisrvoode, p. 383. But this was trifling, com- 
pared to the civil war waged on the western 
frontier, between the Johnstons and Maxwells, 
of which there is a minute aceount in the intro- 
duction to the ballad entitled " Maxwell's Good- 
night." Prefixed to that termed " Kinmont 
Willie," the reader will find an account of the 
last warden raids performed upon the border. 

My sketch of border history now draws to a 
close. The accession of James to the English 
erown converted the extremity into the centre of 
his kingdom. 

The east marehes of Scotland were, at this mo- 
mentous period, in a state of comparative civi- 
lization. The rich soil of Berwickshire soon 
invited the inhabitants to the arts of agriculture. 
— Even in the days of Lesley, the nobles and 
barons of the Merse differed in manners from 
the other borderers, administered justice with 
regularity, and abstained from plunder and 
depredation. De Moribus Scotorum, p. 7. But 
on the middle and western marches, the inha- 
bitants were unrestrained moss-troopers and 
cattle-drivers, knowing no measure of law, says 
Camden, but the length of their swords. The 
sterility of the mountainous country, which they 
inhabited, offered little encouragement to in- 
dustry; and, for the long series of centuries 
which we have hastily reviewed, the hands of 
rapine were never there folded in inactivity, nor 
the sword of violence returned to the scabbard. 
Tarious proclamations were in vain issued, for 



4h interdicting the use of horses and arms upon 
the west border of England and Scotland. f The 
evil was found to require the radical cure of 
extirpation . Buccleuch collected under his ban * 
ners the most desperate of the border warriors, 
of whom he formed a legion, for the service of 
the states of Holland, who had as much reason 
to rejoice on their arrival upon the continent, as 
Britain to congratulate herself upon their de- 
parture. It may be presumed, that few of this 
corps ever returned to their native country. The 
clan of Grseme, a hardy and ferocious set of free- 
booters, inhabiting chiefly the Debateable Land, 
by a very summary exertion of authority, was 
transported to Ireland, and their return prohi- 
bited under pain of death. Against other offen- 
ders, measures, equally arbitrary, ■were without 
hesitation pursued. Numbers of border riders 
were executed, without even the formality of a 
trial ; and it is even said, that in mockery of 
justice, assizes were held upon them after they 
had suffered. For these acts ©f tyranny, see 
Johnston, p. 374, 414, 39, 93. The memory of 
Dunbar's legal proceedings at Jedburgh, are 
preserved in the proverbial phrase, Jeddart Jus- 
tice, which signifies, trial after execution.^: By 



to the royal family, actually rode a private in the 
Scottish horse guards, in tiie reign of Charles II. 
—Edinburgh, 1731, p. 42. 



t "Proclamation shall be made, that all inha- 
biting with Tynedale and Eiddesdale, in Nor- 
thumberland, Bewcastledale, Willgavey, the 
north part of Gilsland, Esk, and Leven, in Cum- 
berland ; east and west Tividale, Liddesdale, 
Eskdale, Ewsdale, and Annerdale, in Scotland 
(saving noblemen and gentlemen unsuspected of 
felony and theft, and not being of broken clans, 
and their household servants, dwelling within 
those several places before recited,) shall put 
away all armour and weapons, as well offensive 
as defensive, as jacks, spears, lances, swords, 
daggers, and steel-caps, hack-buts, pistols, plate 
sleeves, and such like; and shall not keep any 
horse, gelding, or mare, above the value of fifty 
shillings sterling, or thirty pounds Scots, upon 
the like pain of imprisonment." — Proceedings of 
the Border Commissioners, 1503 — Introduction to 
History of Cumberland, p. 127. 

\ A similar proverb in England of the same 
&? interpretation is Lydford Law, derived from 






BORDER BALLADS. 



this rigoar, though sternly and unconscien- 
._.-. tiously exercised, the border marauders were, in 
the course of years, either reclaimed or exter- 
^ -=#, minated ; though nearly a century elapsed ere 
their manners were altogether assimilated to 
those of their countrymen, f 



In these hasty sketches of border history, I have 
endeavoured to select such incidents, as may 
introduce to the reader the character of the 

Lydford, a corporation in Devonshire, where it 
seems the same irregular adminis [ration of jus- 
tice prevailed. A burlesque copy of verses on 
this town begins, 

I oft have heard of Lj dford Law, 
How in the morn tiey hang and draw, 
And sit in judgment after. 

See Westcnit's History of Devonshire . 

f See the acts 18 Cha. II. ch. 3. and 30 Cha. 
II. ch. 2. against the border moss-troopers, to 
which we may add the following curious extracts 
from Mercurius Politicus, a newspaper pub- 
lished during the usurpation. 

" Thursday, November 11, 1662. 

Edinburgh.— The Scotts and moss-troopers 
have again revived their old custom of robbing 
and murthering the English, whether soldiers 
or other, upon all opportunities, within these 
three weeks. "We have had notice of several 
robberies and murders committed by them. 
Among the rest, a lieutenant, and one other of 
col. Overton's regiment, returning from Eng- 
land, were robbed not far from Dunbarr. A 
lieutenant, lately master of the customs at 
Kirkcudbright, was killed about twenty miles 
from this place ; and four foot soldiers of colonel 
Overton's were killed, going to their quarters, 
by some mossers, who, after they had given them 
quarter, tied their hands behind them, and 
threw them down a steep hill, or rock, as it was 
related by a Scotchman, who v as with them, 
but escaped." 

Ibidem— ■' October 13, 1663.— The Parliament, 
October 12, past an act, declaring, any person 
that shall discover any felon, or felons (com- 
monly called, or known,, by the name of moss- 
troopers), residing upon the borders of England 
and Scotland, shall have a reward often pounds 
upon their conviction." 



4 marchmen, more briefly and better than a for- 
mal essay upon their manners. If I have been 
successful in the attempt, he is already acquainted 
with the mixture of courage and rapacity by 
which they were distinguished; and has re- 
viewed some of the scenes in which they acted a 
principal part. It is, therefore, only necessary 
to notice, more minutely, some of their pecu- 
liar customs and modes of life. 

Their morality was of a singular kind. The 
rapine by which they subsisted, they accounted 
lawful and honourable. Ever liable to lose their 
whole substance, by an incursion of the English 
on a sudden breach of truce, they cared littie to 
waste their time in cultivating crops, to be 
reaped by their foes. Their cattle was, there- 
fore, their chief property ,• and these were nightly 
exposed to the southern borderers, as rapacious 
and active as themselves. Hence robbery as- 
sumed the appearance of fair reprisal. The fatal 
privilege of pursuing the marauders into their 
own country, for recovery of stolen goods, led to 
continual skirmishes. The warden also, himself 
frequently the chieftain of a border horde, when 
redress was not instantly granted by the oppo- 
site officer, for depredations sustained by his dis- 
trict, was entitled to retaliate upon England by 
a warden raid. In such cases, the moss-troopers, 
who crowded to his standard, found themselves 
pursuing their craft under legal authority, and 
became the favourites and followers of the mili- 
tary magistrate, whose ordinary duty it was 
to cheek and suppress them. Equally unable 
and unwilling to make nice distinctions, they 
were not to be convinced, that what was 
to-day fair booty, was to-morrow a subject of 
theft. National animosity usually gave an 
additional stimulus to their rapacity ; although 
it must be owned that their depredations ex- 
tended also to the more cultivated parts of their 
own country ± 






^ The armorial bearings, adopted by many of j 
sfi the border tribes, show how little they were r 




Satchells, who lived when *he old border 
ideas of meum and tuum were still in some force, 
endeavours to draw a very nice distinction be- 
twixt a freebooter and a thief ; and thus sings he 
of the Armstrongs :— 

On that border was the Armstrongs, able men ; 
Somewhat unruly, and very ill to tame. 
I would have none think that I call them thieves, 
For, if I did, it would be arrant lies. 

Near a border frontier, in the time of war, 
There's ne'er a man but he's a freebooter. 

Because to all men it may appear, 

The freebooter he is a volunteer ; 

In the muster-rolls he has no desire to stay ; 

He lives by purchase, he gets no pay. 

It's most clear, a freebooter doth live in hazard's 

train ; 
A freebooter's a cavalier that ventures life forgain : 
But, since king James the VI. to England went, 
There has been no cause of grief; 
And he that hath transgress'd since then, 
Is no Freebooter, but a Thief. 

History of the Name of Scott. 

The inhabitants of the inland counties did not 
understand these subtle distinctions. Sir David 
Lindsay, in the curious drama, published by Mr 
Pinkerton, introduces, as one of his dramatis 
persona, Common Thift, a borderer, who is sup- 
posed to come to Fife to steal the earl of Rothes' 
best hackney, and lord Lindsay's brown jennet. 



% Oppression, also (another personage there intro- « 
duced), seems to be connected with the borders ; : A " 
for, finding himself in danger, he exclaims, — ((£) " 

"War God that I were sound and haill, 

Now liftit into Liddesdail ; 

The Mers sowld fynd me beif and caill, 

What rack of breid ? 
War I thair lyftit with my lyfe, 
The devill sowld styk me with a knyffe, 
An' ever I cum agane in Fyfe, 

Till I were deid — 
Pinkerton's Scotish Poems, vol. ii. p. 180. 

Again, when Common Thift is brought to con- ( J 
dign punishment, he remembers his border ^ 
friends in his dying speech • — 



ashamed of their trade of rapine. Like Falstajf, 
they were " Gentlemen of the night, minions of 
the moon," under whose countenance they com- 
mitted their depredations. — Hence, the emble- 
matic moons and stars so frequently charged in 
the arms of border families. Their mottoes also 
bear an allusion to their profession. — " Repara- 
bit cornua Phcebe," i. e. *' We'll have moon-light 
again," is that of the family of Harden. ** Ye 
shall want, ere I want," that of Cranstoun. 
" Watch well," of Haliburton, &c. 



The widdefow wardanis tuik my geir, 
And left me nowthir horse nor meir, 
Nor erdly guid that me belangit ; 
Now, walloway ! I mon be hangit. 

Adew ! my bruthir Annan thieves, 
That holpit me in my mischievis ; 
Adew ! Grossars, Niksonis, and Bells, 
Oft have we fairne owrthreuch the fells: 
Adew I Robsons, Howis, and Pylis, 
That in our craft hes mony wilis : 
Littlis, Trumbells, and Armestranges ; 
Adew ! all theeves, that me belangis; 
Baileowes, Erewynis, and Elwandis, 
Speedy of flicht, and slicht of handis 
The Scotts of Eisdale, and the Gramis, 
I haif na time to tell your nameis. 

lb. p. 15& 

When Common Thift is executed (which is , 
performed upon the stage), Falset (Falsehood), 
who is also brought forth for punishment, pro- 
nances over him the following eulogy : — 

Waes me for thee, gude Common Thift ! 

Was never man made more honest ehift, 

His living for to win : 



C&, 



0*2 



r\^% 



£& 






Thair wes not, in all Liddesdail, i 

That ky mair craftelly could steil, 
Whar thou hingis on that pin ! 

lb. p. 194. 

Sir Richard Maitland, incensed at the bold- 
ness and impunity of the thieves of Liddesdale 
in his time, has attacked them with keen iam- 
bicks. 

The borderers had, in fact, little reason to 
regard the inland Scots as their fellow-subjects, 
or to respect the power of the crown. They 
were frequently resigned, by express compact, 
to the bloody retaliation of the English, without 
experiencing any assistance from their prince, 
and his more immediate subjects. If they be- 
held him, it was more frequently in the charac- 
ter of an avenging judge, than of a protecting 
sovereign. They were in truth, during the time 
of peace, a kind of outcasts, against whom the 
united powers of England and Scotland were I 
often employed. Hence, the men of the borders | 
had little attachment to the monarchs, whom 
they termed, in derision, the kings of Fife and 
Lothian; provinces which they were not legally | 
entitled to inhabit,f and which, therefore, they | 
pillaged with as little remorse as if they had 
belonged to a foreign country. This strange, 
precarious, and adventurous mode of life, led by 
the borderers, was not without its pleasures, and 
seems, in all probability, hardly so disagreeable 
to us, as the monotony of regulated society must 
have been to those who had been long accus- 
tomed to a state of rapine. Well has it been 
remarked, by the eloquent Burke, that the 
shifting tides of fear and hope, the flight and 
pursuit, the peril and escape, alternate famine 
and feast, of the savage and the robber, after a 
time render all course of slow, steady, progres- 
sive, unvaried occupation, and the prospect only 



of a limited mediocrity, at the end of long labour, 
to the last degree tame, languid, and insipid. 
The interesting nature of their exploits may be 
conceived from the account of Camden. 

"What manner of cattle-stealers they are^^jp 
that inhabit these valleys in the marches of 
both kingdoms, John Lesley, a Scotchman him- 
self, and bishop of Eoss, will inform you. They 
sally out of their own borders, in the night, 
in troops, through unfrequented bye-ways, and 
many intricate windings. All the day-time 
they refresh themselves and their horses in lurk- 
ing holes they had pitched upon before, till they 
arrive in the dark at those places they have a 



m 



f By an act 1587, c. 96, borderers are expelled 
from the inland counties, unless they can find 
f- ^ security for their quiet deportment. 



design upon. As soon as they have seized upon 
the booty, they, in like manner, return home in 
the night, through blind ways, and fetching 
many a compass. The more skilful any captain 
is to pass through those wild deserts, crooked 
turnings, and deep precipices, in the thickest 
mists and darkness, his reputation is the 
greater, and he is looked upon as a man of an 
excellent head. — And they are so very cunning, 
that they seldom have their booty taken from 
them, unless sometimes, when, by the help of 
blood-hounds following them exactly upon the 
tract, they may chance to fall into the hands of " 
their adversaries. When being taken, they have 
so muoh persuasive eloquence, and so many 
smooth insinuating words at command, that if 
they do not move their judges, nay, and even 
their adversaries (notwithstanding the severity 
of their natures) to have mercy, yet they incite 
them to admiration and compassion." — Cam,' s : 
den's Britannia. The reader is requested to 
compare this curious account, given by Lesley, 
with the ballad called Hobbie Noble. $ 



i The following tradition is also illustrative 
of Lesley's account. Teitch of Dawyk, a man of 
great strength and bravery, who flourished in 
the 16 th century, is said by tradition to have 
been upon bad terms with a neighbouring pro- 
prietor, Tweedie of Drummelzier. By some §F 
accident a flock of Dawyk's sheep had strayed 



% 



(jjj 

i 

1 



The inroads of the marchers, when stimulated 
only by the desire of plunder, were never marked 
with cruelty, and seldom even with bloodshed, 
unless in the case of opposition. They held, 
that property was common to all who stood in 
want of it ; but they abhorred and avoided the 

\ crime of unnecessary homicide. — Lesley, p. 63. 

| This was, perhaps, partly owing to the habits of 
intimacy betwixt the borderers of both king- 

' doms, notwithstanding their mutual hostility 

• and reciprocal depredations. A natural inter- 
course took place between the English and 
Scottish marchers, at border meetings, and dur- 
ing the short intervals of peace. They met fre- 
quently at parties of the chace and football ; and 
it required many and strict regulations, on both 

; sides, to prevent them from forming intermar- 
riages, and from cultivating too close a degree of 
intimacy. — Scottish Acts, 1587, c. 105 ; Wharton's 
Regulations, 6th Ednwrd VI. The custom, also, 
of paying black-mail, or protection rent, intro- 
duced a connection betwixt the countries ; for 
a Scottish borderer, taking black-mail from an 
English inhabitant, was not only himself bound 
to abstain from injuring such person, but also 

' to maintain his quarrel, and recover his pro- 
perty, if carried off by others. Hence, an union 
rose betwixt the parties, founded upon mutual 
interest, which counteracted, in many instances, 



: over into Drummelzier's grounds, at the time 
when Dickie of the Den, a Liddesdale outlaw, 
was making his rounds in Tweeddale. Seeing 
this flock of sheep, he drove them off without 
ceremony. Next morning, Veitch, perceiving 
his loss, summoned his servants and retainers, 
laid a blood -hound upon the traces of the rob- 
ber, by whom they were guided for many miles, 
till, on the banks of Liddel, the dog staid upon 

I a very large hay-stack. The pursuers were a 
good deal surprised at the obstinate pause of the 
blood-hound, till Dawyk pulled down some of 
the hay, and discovered a large excavation, con- 

1 taining the robbers and their spoil. He in- 
stantly flew upon Dickie, and was about to 
poniard him, when the marauder, with the 
address noticed by Lesley, protested that he 

I would never have touched a cloot (hoof) of them, ' 




the effects of national prejudice. The similar- 
ity of their manners may be inferred from that 
of their language. In an old mystery, imprinted 
at London, 1654, a mendicant borderer is intro- 
duced, soliciting alms of a citizen and his wife. 
To a question of the latter he replies, " Savying 
your honour, good maistress, I was born in 
Eedesdale, in Northomberlande, and come of a 
wight riding sirname, call'd the Robsons : gude 
honeste men, and true, savyng a little shiftynge 
for theyr livyng; God help them, silly pure 
men." The wife answers, " What doest thou 
here, in this countrie ? me thinke thou art a 
Scot by thy tongue." Beggar. — "Trowe me 
never mair then, good deam ; I had rather be 
hanged in a withie of a cow-taile, for thei are 
ever fare and fause." — Appendix to Johnson's 
Sad Shepherd, 1783, p. 188. From the wife's 
observation, as well as from the dialect of the 
beggar, we may infer, that there was little dif- 
ference between the Northumbrian and the bor- 
der Scottish; a circumstance interesting in 
itself, and decisive of the occasional friendly 
intercourse among the marchmen. From all 
these combining circumstances arose the lenity 
of the borderers in their incursions, and the 
equivocal moderation which they sometimes 
observed towards each other in open war.f 

had he not taken them for Drummelzier'6 pro- 
perty. This dexterous appeal to Veitch's pas- 
sions saved the life of the freebooter. 

f This practice of the marchmen was observed 
and reprobated by Patten. "Anoother manner 
have they {the English borderers) amoong them, 
of wearyng handkerchers roll'd about their 
amies, and lettres brouder'd {embroidered) upon 
their cappes: they said themselves, the use 
thearof was that ech of them might knowe his 
fellowe, and thearbye the sooner assemble, or in 
nede to ayd one another, and such lyke respectes ; 
howbeit, thear wear of the army amoong us 
(sum suspicious men perchance) that thought 
thei used them for collusion, and rather bycaus 
thei might be knowen to the enemie, as the ene- 
mies are knowen to them (for thei have their 
markes too,) and so in conflict either ech to s 



m^J^^^S&^^~j^^^ 




This humanity and moderation was, on cer- 
tain occasions, entirely laid aside by the border- 
ers. In the case of deadly feud, either against 
■ an Englishman, or against any neighbouring 
] tribe, the whole force of the offended clan was 
' bent to avenge the death of any of their num- 
} ber. Their vengeance not only vented itself 
upon the homicide and his family, but upon all 
his kindred, on his whole tribe ; and on every 
one, in fine, whose death or ruin could affect 
him with regret. — Lesley, p. 63 ; Border Laws, 
passim ; Scottish Acts, 1594, c. 231. The reader 
, will find, in the following collection, many allu- 
sions to this infernal custom, which always 
: overcame the marcher's general reluctance to 
shed human blood, and rendered him remorse- 
lessly savage. 

oother, or gently eche to take oother. Indede, 
men have been mooved the rather to thinke so, 

| bycaus sum of their crosses (the English red cross) 

' were so narrowe, and so singly set on, that a 
puffe of wynde might blowe them from their 
breastes, and that thei wear found right often 

, talking with the Skottish prikkers within less 
than their gad's (spears) length asunder; and 
when thei perceived thei had been espied, thei 
have bet;un one to run at anoother, but so ap- 
parently perlassent (in parley) as the lookers on 
resembled their chasyng lyke the running at 
base in an uplondish toun, whear the match is 
made for a quart of good ale, or like the play in 

' Robin Cookes scole (a fencing school,) whear, 
bycaus the punies mey lerne, thei strike fewe 
strokes but by assent and appointment. I hard 
sum men say, it did mooch augment their sus- 
picion that wey, bycaus at the battail they sawe 
these prikkers so badly demean them, more 
intending the taking of prisoners, than the 
surety of victorye ; for while oother men fought, 
thei fell to their prey j that as thear wear but 
fewe of them but brought home his prisoner, so 
wear thear many that had six or seven." — Pat- 
ten's Account of Somerset's Expedition, apud 
Dalyell's Fragments, p< 76. 

It is singular that, about this very period, the 
same circumstances are severely animadverted 
upon by the strenuous Scottishman, who wrote 
the Complaynt of Scotland, as well as by the 
English author above quoted : " There is nothing 



For fidelity to their word, Lesley ascribes high 
praise to the inhabitants of the Scottish frontier. 
Robert Constable (himself a traitorous spy) de- 
scribes the outlaws, who were his guides into 
Scotland, as men who would not hesitate to 
steal, yet would betray no man, that trusted in 
them, for all the gold in Scotland or France. 
"They are my guides," said he; "and outlaws 
who might gain their pardon by surrendering 
me, yet I am secure of their fidelity, and have 
often proved it." Indeed, when an instance 
happened of breach of faith, the injured person, 
at the first border meeting, rode through the 
field, displaying a glove (the pledge of faith) 
upon the point of his lance, and proclaiming 
the perfidy of the person who had broken his 
word. So great was the indignation of the 



that is occasione of your adhering to the opinion 
of Ingland contrair your natife cuntre, bot the 
grit familiarite that Inglis men and Scottes hes 
had on baith the boirdours, ilk ane witht utheris, 
in merchandeis, in selling and buying hors and 
nolt, and scheip, outfang, and infang, ilk ane 
amang utheris, the whilk familiarite is express 
contrar the lauis and consuetudis bayth of Ing- 
land and Scotland. In auld tymis it was deter- 
mit in the artiklis of the pace, be the twa war- 
danis of the boirdours of Ingland and Scotland, 
that there shuld be na familiaritie betwix Scottis 
men and Inglis men, nor marriage to be con- 
trakit betwix them, nor conventions on holy- 
dais at gammis and plays, nor merehandres to 
be maid amang them, nor Scottis men till enter 
on Inglis grond, witht out the king of Ingland'3 
save conduct, nor Inglis men til enter on Scottis 
grond, witht out the King of Scotland's save con- 
duct, howbeit that ther war sure pace betwix 
the twa realmes. Bot thir sevyn yeir bygane, 
thai statu tis and artiklis of the pace are adnullit, 
for ther hes been as grit familiaritie, and conven- 
tions, and makyng of merchandreis, on the 
boirdours, this lang tyme betwix Inglis men and 
Scottis men, baytht in pace and weir, as Scottis- 
men usis amang theme selfis witht in the reaime 
of Scotland: and sic familiarite has bene the 
cause that the kyng of Ingland gat intelligence 
witht divers gentlemen of Scotland." — Complayni 
of Scotland, Edin. 1801, p. 164, 



§8 






m 












B 



assembly against the perjured criminal, that he 
wa3 often slain by his own clan, to wipe out the 
disgrace he had brought on them. In the same 
spirit of confidence, it was not unusual to behold 
the victors, after an engagement, dismiss their 
prisoners upon parole, who never failed either to 
transmit the stipulated ransom, or to surrender 
themselves to bondage, if unable to do so. But 
the virtues of a barbarous people, being founded 
not upon moral principle, but upon the dreams 
of superstition, or the capricious dictates of an- 
cient custom, can seldom be uniformly relied on. 
We must not, therefore, be surprised to find 
these very men, so true to their word in general, 
using, upon other occasions, various resources 
of cunning and chicane, against which the bor- 
der laws were in vain directed. 

The immediate rulers of the borders were the 
chiefs of the different clans, who exercised over 
their respective septs a dominion partly patri- 
archal, and partly feudal. The latter bond of 
adherence was, however, the more slender ; for, 
in the acts regulating the borders, we find 
repeated mention of "Clannes having captaines 
and chieftaines, whom on they depend, oft-times 
against the willes of their landeslordes." — Stat. 
1587, c. 95, and the Roll thereto annexed. Of 
course, these laws looked less to the feudal su- 
perior, than to the chieftain of the name, for 
the restraint of the disorderly tribes; and it is 
repeatedly enacted, that the head of the clan 
should be first called upon to deliver those of his 
sept, who should commit any trespass, and that, 
on his failure to do so, he should be liable to the 
injured party in full redress. Ibidem, and Stat. 
1574, c. 231, By the same statutes, the chieftains 
and landlords, presiding over border clans, were 
obliged to find caution, and to grant hostages, that 
they would subject themselves to the due course 
of law. Such clans, as had no chieftain of suffi- 
cient note to enter bail for their quiet conduct, 
became broken men, outlawed to both nations. 

From these enactments, the power of the bor- 
der chieftains may be conceived; for it had been 




hard and useless to have punished them for the 
trespasses of their tribes, unless they possessed 
over them unlimited authority. The abode of these 
petty princes by no means corresponded to the 
extent of their power. We do not find, on the 
Scottish borders, the splendid and extensive 
baronial castles which graced and defended the 
opposite frontier. The gothic grandeur of Aln- 
wick, of Eaby, and of Naworth, marks the weal- 
thier and more secure state of the English nobles. 
The Scottish chieftain, however extensive his 
domains, derived no advantage, save from such 
parts as he could himself cultivate or occupy. 
Payment of rent was hardly known on the bor- 
ders, till after the union.f All that the land- 
lord could gain, from those residing upon his 
estate, was their personal service in battle, their 
assistance in labouring the land retained in his 
natural possession, some petty quit rents, of a 
nature resembling the feudal casualties, and per- 
haps a share in the spoil which they acquired 
by rapine.^: This, with his herds of cattle and 

f Stowe, in detailing the happy consequences 
of the union of the crowns, observes, "that the 
northerne borders became as safe, and peaceable, 
as any part of the entire kingdome, so as in the 
fourthe year of the king's reigne, as well gentle- 
men and others, inhabiting the places aforesayde, 
finding the auncient wast ground to be very good 
and fruitefull, began to contende in lawe about 
their bounds, challenging then, that for their 
hereditarie right, which formerly they disavowed, 
only to avoyde charge of common defence." 

$ "As for the humours of the people (£. e. 
of Tiviotdale), they were both strong and war- 
like, as being inured to war, and daily incur- 
sions, and the most part of the heritors of the 
country gave out all their lands to their tenants, 
for military attendance, upon rentals, and re- 
served only some few manses for their own sus- 
tenance, which were laboured by their tenants, 
besides their service. They paid an entry, a 
herauld, and a small rental-duty; for there 
were no rents raised here that were considera- 
ble, till king James went into England; yea, 
all along the border."— Account of Roxburgh- 
shire, by Sir William Scott of Harden, and Kerr 
of Sunlarvs, apud Macfarlane's MSS. 



^n 



m 



S&. 



& 



of sheep, and with the black-mail, which he 
exacted from his neighbours, constituted the 
revenue of the chieftain; and, from funds so 
precarious, he could rarely spare sums to expend 
in strengthening or decorating his habitation, 
Another reason is found in the Scottish mode of 
warfare. It was early discovered, that the 
English surpass their neighbours in the arts of 
assaulting or defending fortified places. The 
policy of the Scottish, therefore, deterred them 
from erecting upon the borders buildings of such 
extent and strength, as, being once taken by the 
foe, would have been capable of receiving a per- 
manent garrison. f To themselves, the woods 
and hills of their country were pointed out by 
the great Bruce, as their safest bulwarks ; and 
the maxim of the Douglasses, that "it was 
better to hear the lark sing, than the mouse 
cheep," was adopted by every border chief. For 
these combined reasons, the residence of the 
chieftain was commonly a large square battle- 
mented ± tower, called a keep, or peel ; placed on 
a precipice, or on the banks of a torrent, and, 

f The royal castles of Eoxburgh, Hermitage, 
Lochmaben, &c, form a class of exceptions to 
this rule, being extensive and well fortified. 
Perhaps we ought also to except the baronial 
castle of Home. Tet, in 1455, the following 
petty garrisons were thought sufficient for the 
protection of the border; two hundred spear- 
men, and as many archers, upon the east and 
middle inarches ; and one hundred spears, with 
a like number of bowmen, upon the western 
marches. But then the same statute provides, 
" That they are neare hand the bordoure, are 
ordained to have gud househaldes, and abulzied 
men as effeiris : and to be reddie at their princi- 
pal place, and to pass, with thewardanes, quhen 
and quhair they sail be charged." — Acts of James 
II., cap. 55, Of garrisons to be laid upon the bor- 
ders. — Hence Buchanan has justly described, as 
an attribute of the Scottish nation, 

"Necfossis nee muris patriam, sed Marte tueri." 

$ I have observed a difference in architecture 
betwixt the English and Scottish towers. The 
latter usually have upon the top a projecting 
battlement, with interstices, anciently called 



if the ground would permit, surrounded by a 
moat. In short, the situation of a border house, 
surrounded by woods, and rendered almost inac- 
cessible by torrents, by rocks, or by morasses, 
sufficiently indicated the pursuits and appre- 
hensions of its inhabitants." — "Locus horroris 
et vast e solitudinis, aptus ad pr&dam, habilis ad 
rapinam, habitatoribus sui-s lapis erat offensionis 
et petra scandali, utpote qui stipendiis suis minime 
contenti, Mum de alieno, parum de suo, posside- 
bant — totius provinci ~' spolium." No wonder, 
therefore, that James V., on approaching the 
castle of Lochwood, the ancient seat of the 
Johnstones, is said to have exclaimed, " that he 
who built it must have been a knave in his 
heart." An outer wall, with some slight forti- 
fications, served as a protection for the castle at 
night. The walls of these fortresses were of an 
immense thickness, and they could easily be 
defended against any small force ; more espe- 
cially, as, the rooms being vaulted, each story 
formed a separate lodgement, capable of being 
held out for a considerable time. On such occa- 
sions, the usual mode adopted by the assailants, 
was to expel the defenders, by setting fire to wet 
straw in the lower apartments. But the border 
chieftains seldom chose to abide in person a siege 
of this nature; and I have not observed a single 
instance of a distinguished baron made prisoner 
in his own house. § Patten's Expedition, p. 35. 
The common people resided in paltry huts, 
about the safety of which they were little an- 
xious, as they contained nothing of value. On 
the approach of a superior force, they unthatched 
them, to prevent their being burned, and then 
abandoned them to the foe. — Storve's Chronicle, 



machicoules, betwixt the parapet and the wall, 
through which stones or darts might be hurled 
upon the assailants. This kind of fortification 
is less common on the south border. 

§ I ought to except the famous Dand Ker, who 
was made prisoner in his castle of Fairnihirst 
after defending it bravely against lord Dac*es, 
24th September, 1523. 



-ok 



7 m 









p. 665. Their only treasures were, a fleet and 
active horse, with the ornaments which their 
rapine had procured for the females of their 
family, of whose gay appearance the borderers 
were vain. 

Some rude monuments occur upon the bor- 
ders, the memorial of ancient valour. Such is 
the cross at Milholm, on the banks of the Lid- 
del, said to have been erected in memory of the 
chief of the Armstrongs, murdered treacher- 
ously by lord Soulis, while feasting in Hermi- 
tage castle. Such also, a rude stone, now bro- 
ken, and very much defaced, placed upon a 
mount on the lands of Haugh-head, near the 
junction of the Kale and Teviot. The inscrip- 
tion records the defence made by Hobbie Hall, 
a man of great strength and courage, against 
an attempt of the powerful family of Ker, to 
possess themselves of his small estate. f 

The same simplicity marked their dress and 
arms. Patten observes, that in battle the laird 
could not be distinguished from the serf : all 
wearing the same coat-armour, called a jack, 
and the baron being only distinguished by his 
sleeves of mail and his head-piece. The bor- 
derers, in general, acted as light cavalry, riding 
horses of a small size, but astonishingly nimble, 
and trained to move, by short bounds, through 
the morasses with which Scotland abounds. 
Their offensive weapons were a lance of uncom- 



t The rude strains of the inscription little cor- 
respond with the gallantry of a 



It is in these words : 

Here Hobbie Hall boldly maintained his right, 
'Gainst reif, plain force, armed wi' awless might. 
Full thirty pleughs, harnes'd in all their gear, 
Could not his valiant noble heart make fear! 
But wi' his sword he cut the foremost's soam 
In two; and drove baith pleughs and pleughmen home, 
1620. 

%£ Soam means the iron links which fasten a yoke 



^ of oxen to the plough, 



mon length; a sword, either two-handed, or of 
the modern light size; sometimes a species of 
battle-axe, called a Jedburgh-staff ; and, lat- 
terly, dags, or pistols. Although so much accus- 
tomed to act on horseback, that they held it 
even mean to appear otherwise, the marchmen 
occasionally acted as infantry; nor were they 
inferior to the rest of Scotland in forming that 
impenetrable phalanx of spears, whereof it is 
said, by an English historian, that "sooner 
shall a bare finger pierce through the skin of an 
angry hedge-hog, than any one encounter the 
brunt of their pikes." At the battle of Melrose, 
for example, Buccleuch's army fought upon 
foot. But the habits of the borderers fitted 
them particularly to distinguish themselves as 
light cavalry; and hence-the name of prickers 
and hohylers, so frequently applied to them. 
At the blaze of their beacon fires, they were 
wont to assemble ten thousand horsemen in the 
course of a single day. Thus rapid in their war- 
like preparations, they were alike ready for 
attack and defence. Each individual carried his 
own provisions, consisting of a small bag of oat- 
meal, and trusted to plunder, or the chace, for 
ekeing out his precarious meal. Beauge re- 
marks, that nothing surprised the Scottish 
cavalry so much as to see their French auxili- 
aries encumbered with baggage-waggons, and 
attended by commissaries. Before joining bat- 
tle, it seems to have been the Scottish practice 
to set fire to the litter of their camp, while, 
under cover of the 6moke, the hobylers, or bor- 
der cavalry, executed their manoeuvres. — There 
i6 a curious account of the battle of Mitton, 
fought in the year 1319, in a valuable MS. 
Chronicle of England, in the collection of the 
marquis of Douglas, from which this stratagem 
seems to have decided the engagement, " In 
meyn time, while the wer thus lastyd, the 
kynge went agane into Skotlonde, that hitte 
was wonder for to wette, and bysechd the towne 
of Barwick; but the Skottes went over the 
water of Sold, that was iii myle from the hoete, 



C§v£ 



S3 







W<&£ms 



and prively they stole away by nyghte, and 
come into England, and robbed and destroyed 
all that they myght, and spared no manner 
thing til that they come to Yorke. And, whan 
the Englischemen, that were left at home, herd 
this tiding, all tho that myght well travell, so 
well monkys and priestis, and freres, and cha- 
nouns, and seculars, come and met with the 
Skottes at Mytone of Swale, the xii day of Octo- 
ber. Alias, for sorrow for the Englischemen ! 
housbondmen, that could nothing in wer, ther 
were quelled and drenchyd in an arm of the 
see. And hyr chyftaines, sir William Milton, 
ersch-biishop of Yorke, and the abbot of Selby, 
with her stedes, fled and come into Yorke ; and 
that was her owne folye that they had that 
mischaunce ; for the passyd the water of Swale, 
and the Skottes set on fiir three stalkes of hey, 
and the smoke thereof was so huge, that the 
Englischemen might not see the Scottes; and 
whan the Englischemen were gon over the water, 
tho came the Skottes, with hir wyng, in maner 
of a sheld, and come toward the Englischemen 
in ordour. And the Englischemen fled for un- 
nethe they had any use of armes, for the kyng 
had hem al almost lost att the sege of Barwick. 
And the Scotsmen hobylers went betwene the 
brigge and the Englischemen; and when the 
gret hoste them met, the Englischemen fled be- 
tween the hobylers and the gret hoste ; and the 
Englischemen wer ther quelled, and he that 
myght wend over the water were saved, but 
many were drowned. Alas ! for there were 
slayn many men of religion, and seculars, and 
pristis, and clerks, and with much sorwe the 
erschbischope scaped from the Skottes; and, 
therefore, the Skottes called that battel the 
V/hite Battell." 

For smaller predatory expeditions, the bor- 
derers had signals, and places of rendezvous, 
peculiar to each tribe. If the party set forward 
before all the members had joined, a mark, cut 
in the turf, or on the bark of a tree, pointed out 
to tie stragglers the direction which the main 



body had pursued.f Their Avarlike convoca- 
tions were, also, frequently disguised, under pre* 
tence of meetings for the purpose of sport. The 
game of foot-ball, in particular, which was an- 
ciently, and still continues to be, a favourite : 
border sport, was the means of collecting to- ' 
gether large bodies of moss-troopers, previous to 
any military exploit. When Sir Robert Carey- 
was warden of the east marches, the knowledge 
that there was a great match at foot-ball at 
Kelso, to be frequented by the principal Scot- 
tish riders, was sufficient to excite his vigilance 
and his apprehension4 Previous also to the 
murder of Sir John Carmichael (see Notes on the 
Raid of the Reidsrvire,) it appeared at the trial 
of the perpetrators, that they had assisted at a 
grand foot-ball meeting, where the crime was 
concerted. 

Upon the religion of the borderers there can 
very little be said. We have already noticed, 
that they remained attached to the Roman 
Catholic faith rather longer than the rest of 
Scotland. This probably arose from a total in- 
difference upon the subject ; for we no where 
find in their character the respect for the church, 
which is a marked feature of that religion. In 
1528, Lord Dacre complains heavily to cardinal 
Wolsey, that, having taken a notorious free- 
booter, called Dyk Irwen, the brother and 
friends of the outlaw had, in retaliation, seized 
a man of some property, and a relation of Lord 
Dacre, called Jeffrey Middle ton, as he returned 
from a pilgrimage to St Ninian's, in Galloway; 
and that, notwithstanding the sanctity of his 
character as a true pilgrim, and the Scottish 



f In the parish of Linton, in Roxburghshire, 
there is a circle of stones, surrounding a smooth 
plot of turf, called the Tryst, or place of appoint- 
ment, which tradition avers to have been the 
rendezvous of the neighbouring warriors. The 
name of the leader was cut in the turf, and the 
arrangement of the letters announced to his fol- 
lowers the course which he had taken. See 
Statistical Account of the Parish of Linton, 

$ See Appendix. 




334: 



r^f 



i 



Q£ 






monarch's safe conduct, they continued to detain 
him in their fastnesses, until he should redeem 
the said arrant thief, Dyk Irwen. The abbeys, 
which were planted upon the border, neither 
seem to have been much respected by the Eng- 
lish, nor by the Scottish barons. They were 
repeatedly burned by the former, in the course 
of the border wars, and by the latter they seem 
to have been regarded chiefly as the means of 
endowing a needy relation, or the subject of 
occasional plunder. Thus, Andrew Home of 
Fastcastle, about 1488, attempted to procure a 
perpetual feu of certain possessions belonging to 
the abbey of Coldinghame; and being baffled, 
by the king bestowing that opulent benefice 
upon the royal chapel at Stirling, the Humes 
and Hepburns started into rebellion ; asserting, 
that the priory should be conferred upon some 
younger son of their families, according to an- 
cient custom. After the fatal battle of Flodden, 
one of the Kers testified his contempt for cleri- 
cal immunities and privileges, by expelling from 
his house the abbot of Kelso. These bickerings 
betwixt the clergy and the barons were usually 
excited by disputes about their temporal inter- 
est. It was common for the churchmen to 
grant lands in feu to the neighbouring gentle- 
men, who, becoming their vassals, were bound 
to assist and protect them.f But, as the pos- 
sessions and revenues of the benefices became 
thus intermixed with those of the laity, any 
attempts rigidly to enforce the claims of the 
church were usually attended by the most scan- 
dalous disputes. A petty warfare was carried 
on for years, betwixt James, abbot of Dryburgh, 
and the family of Halliburton of Mertoun, or 
Newmains, who held some lands from that 
abbey. These possessions were, under various 



& pretexts, seized and laid waste by both parties ; 
and some bloodshed took place in the contest, 
betwixt the lay vassals and their spiritual supe- 
rior. The matter was, at length, thought of 
sufficient importance to be terminated by a re- 
ference to his majesty; whose decree arbitral, 
dated at Stirling, the 8th of May, 1535, proceeds 
thus : " Whereas we, having been advised and 
knowing the said gentlemen, the Halliburtons, 
to be leal and true honest men, long servants 
unto the saide abbeye, for the saide landis, stout 
men at armes, and goode borderers against 
Ingland ; and doe therefore decree and ordain, 
that they sail be repossess'd, and bruik and en- 
joy the landis and steedings they had of the 
said abbeye, paying the use and wonte : and 
that they sail be goode servants to the said 
venerabil father, like as they and their pre- 
decessours were to the said venerabil father, 
and his predecessours, and he a good master 
to them." | It is unnecessary to detain the 
reader with other instances of the discord, 
which prevailed anciently upon the borders, be- 
twixt the spiritual shepherd and his untractable 
flock. 

The reformation was late of finding its way 
into the border wilds ; for, while the religious 



f These vassals resembled, in some degree, the 
Vidames in France, and the Vogten, or Yize- 
domen, of the German abbeys; but the system 
was never carried regularly into effect in Bri- 
tain, and this circumstance facilitated the dis- 
solution of the religious houses. 



£ This decree was followed by a marriage be- 
twixt the abbot's daughter, Elizabeth Stewart, 
and Walter Halliburton, one of the family of 
Newmains. But even this alliance did not 
secure peace between the venerable father and 
his vassals. The offspring of the marriage was 
an only daughter, named Elizabeth Halliburton. 
As this young lady was her father's heir, the 
Halliburtons resolved that she should marry one 
of her cousins, to keep her property in the clan. 
But as this did not suit the views of the abbot, 
he carried off by force the intended bride, and 
married her, at Stirling, to Alexander Erskine, 
a brother of the laird of Balgony, a relation and 
follower of his own . From this marriage sprung 
the Erskines of Shielfield. This exploit of the 
abbot revived the feud betwixt him and the 
Halliburtons, which only ended with the disso- 
lution of the abbey,— MS. History of Halliburton 
Family, penes editorem. 




BOEDEE BALLADS 




and civil dissensions were at the height in 1568, 
Drury -writes to Cecil, — "Our trusty neighbours 
of Teviotdale are holden occupied only to attend 
to the pleasure and calling of their own. heads, to 
make some diversion in this matter." The 
influence of the reformed preachers, among the 
borders, seems also to have been but small ; for, 
upon all occasions of dispute with the kirk, 
James VI. was wont to call in their assistance. 
— Calderrvood, p. 129. 

We learn from a curious passage in the life of 
Richard Cameron, a fanatical preacher during 
the time of what is called the "persecution," 
that some of the borderers retained to a late 
period their indifference about religious matters. 
After having been licensed at Haughhead, in 
Teviotdale, he was, according to his biographer, 
sent first to preach in Annandale. " He said, 
' How can I go there ? I know what sort of peo- 
ple they are.' ' But,' Mr. Welch said, 'go your 
way, Eitchie, and set the fire of hell to their 
tails.'" He went; and, the first day, he 
preached upon that text, How shall 1 put thee 
among the children, S,-c. In the application, he 
said, 'Put you among the children! the off- 
spring of thieves and robbers ! we have all heard 
of Annandale thieves.' Some of them got a 
merciful cast that day, and told afterwards, that 
it was the first field-meeting they ever attended, 
and that they went out of mere curiosity, to see 
a minister preach in a tent, and people sit on 
the ground." — Life of Richard Cameron.\ 

Cleland, an enthusiastic Cameronian, lieuten- 
ant-colonel of the regiment levied after the 
revolution from among that wild and fanatical 
sect, claims to the wandering preachers of his 



f This man was chaplain in the family of Sir 
Walter Scott of Harden, who attended the 
meetings of the indulged presbyterians ; but 
Cameron, considering this conduct as a com- 
promise with the foul fiend Episcopacy, was 
dismissed from the family. He was slain in a 
skirmish at Airdsmoss, bequeathing his name 
to the sect of fanatics still called Cameronians. 



> tribe the merit of converting the borderers. He 
introduces a cavalier haranguing the Highland- 
ers, and ironically thus guarding them against 
the fanatic divines: 

"If their doctrine there get rooting, 

Then, farewell theift, the best of booting. 

And this ye see is very clear, 

Dayly experience makes it appear ; 

For instance, lately on the borders, 

Where there was nought but theft and murders, 

Eapine, cheating, and resetting, 

Slight of hand, and fortunes getting, 

Their designation, as ye ken, 

Was all along the Tacking Men. 

Now, rebels more prevails with words, 

Than drawgoons does with guns and swords, 

So that their bare preaching now 

Makes the rush-bush keep the cow ; 

Better than Scots or English kings 

Could do by kilting them with strings. 

Yea, those that were the greatest rogues, 

Follows them over hills and bogues, 

Crying for mercy and for preaching, 

For they'll now hear no others teaching." 

Cleland's Poems, 1697, p. 30. 

The poet of the Whigs might exaggerate the 
success of their teachers ; yet it must be owned, 
that the doctrine of insubordination, joined to 
their vagrant and lawless habits, was calculated 
strongly to conciliate their border hearers. 

But, though the church, in the border coun- 
ties, attracted little veneration, no part of Scot- 
land teemed with superstitious fears and obser- 
vances more than they did. " The Dalesmen, "£ 
says Lesley, " never count their beads with such 

± An epithet bestowed upon the borderers, 
from the names of the various districts ; as Ti- 
viotdale, Liddesdale, Eskdale, Ewsdale, Annan- 
dale, &c. Hence, an old ballad distinguishes 
the north as the country, 

""Where every river gives u?,vae to a dsla." 



H 







Ex-ale-tation of Ale. 



V-?/ 






m 



earnestness as when they set out upon a preda- 
tory expedition." Penances, the composition 
betwixt guilt and conscience, were also frequent 
upon the borders. Of this we have a record in 
many bequests to the church, and in some more 
lasting monuments j such as the Tower of Re- 
pentance, in Dumfries -shire, and, according to 
vulgar tradition, the church of Linton, f in 
Roxburghshire. Instances exist of leagues, or 
treaties of peace betwixt two hostile clans, by 
which the heads of each became bound to make 
the four pilgrimages of Scotland, for the be- 
nefit of the souls of those of the opposite clan, 
who had fallen in the feud. These were super- 
stitions, flowing immediately from the nature 
of the Catholic religion : but there was, upon 
the border, no lack of others of a more gene- 
ral nature. Such was the universal belief in 
spells, of which some traces may yet remain 
in the wild parts of the country. These were 
common in the time of the learned bishop 
Nicolson, who derives them from the time of 
the Pagan Danes. " This conceit was the more 
heightened, by reflecting upon the natural 
superstition of our borderers at this day, who 
were much better acquainted with, and do more 
firmly believe, their old legendary stories, of 
fairies and witches, than the articles of their 
creed. And to convince me, yet farther, that 
they are not utter strangers to the black art of 
their forefathers, I met with a gentleman in the 



f This small church is founded upon a little 
hill of sand, in which no stone of the size of an 
egg is said to have been found, although the 
neighbouring soil is sharp and gravelly. Tra- 
dition accounts for this, by informing us, that 
the foundresses were two sisters, upon whose 
account much blood had been spilt in that spot; 
and that the penance imposed on the fair causers 
of the slaughter, was an order from the pope to 
sift the sand of the hill, upon which their church 
was to be erected. This story may, perhaps, 
have some foundation ; for, in the church-yard 
was discovered a single grave, containing no 
fewer than fifty skulls, most of which bore the 
marks of having been cleft by violence. 



neighbourhood, who showed me a book of spells, 
and magical receipts, taken, two or three days 
before, in the pocket of one of our moss-troopers; 
wherein, among many other conjuring feats, 
was prescribed a certain remedy for an ague, by 
applying a few barbarous characters to the body 
of the party distempered. These, methought, 
were very near a-kin to Wormius's Ram Runer, 
which, he says, differed wholly in figure and 
shape from the common runos. For, though he 
tells us that these Ram Runer were so called, 
Eo quod molestias, dolores, morbosque hisce infli- 
gere, inimicis soliti sunt magi ; yet his great 
friend, Arng. Jonas, more to our purpose, says 
that — His etiam usi sunt ad benefaciendum, ju- 
vandum, medicandum tarn animi quam corporis 
morbis ; atque ad ipsos cacodamones pellendos et 
fugandos. I shall not trouble you with a draught 
of this spell, because I have not yet had an op- 
portunity of learning whether it may not be an 
ordinary one, and to be met with, among others 
of the same nature, in Paracelsus, or Cornelius 
Agrippa." — Letter from Bishop Nicolson to Mr. 
Walker; vide Camden's Britannia, Cumberland. 
Even in the editor's younger days, he can re- 
member the currency of certain spells for cur- 
ing sprains, burns, or dislocations, to which 
popular credulity ascribed unfailing efficacy. £ 
Charms, however, against spiritual enemies, 
were yet moie common than those intended to 
cure corporal complaints. This is not surpris- 
ing, as a fantastic remedy well suited an ima- 
ginary disease. 

There were, upon the borders, many consecra- 
ted wells, for resorting to which the people's 
credulity is severely censured by a worthy phy- 



% Among these may be reckoned the supposed 
influence of Irish earth, in curing the poison of 
adders, or other venomous reptiles. — This virtue 
is extended by popular credulity to the natives, 
and even to the animals, of Hibernia. A gen- 
tleman, bitten by some reptile, so as to occasion 
a great swelling, seriously assured the editor, 
that he ascribed his cure to putting the affected 
finger into the mouth of an Irish mare ' 




jp\ eician of the seventeenth century, who himself 
\^, c y believed in a shower of living herrings having 
N v— 3i fallen near Dumfries. " Many run supersti- 
J ^\- tiously to other wells, and there obtain, as they 
i imagine, health and advantage; and there they 
"- offer bread and cheese, or money, by throwing 
~r?\ them into the well." In another part of the 
jf MS. occurs the following passage : " In the 
J1F\ bounds of the lands of Eccles, belonging to a 
ve) / 'yneage of the name of Maitland, there is a loch 
•>? called the Dowloch, of old resorted to with much 
^\ : superstition, as medicinal both for men and btasts, 
I | and that with such ceremonies, as are shrewdly 
: suspected to have been begun with witchcraft, and 
r"/"'- increased afterward by magical directions : For, 
|| burying of a cloth, or somewhat that did relate to 
ET* the bodies of men and women, and a shackle, or 
" \ teather, belonging to cow or horse, and these 
being cast into the loch, if they did float, it was 
taken for a good omen of recovery, and a part of 
the water carried to the patient, though to re- 
mote places, without saluting or speaking to any 
they met by the way ; but, if they did sink, the 
recovery of the party was hopeless. This custom 
was of late much curbed and restrained; but 
since the discovery of many medicinal fountains 
Lj near to the place, the vulgar, holding that it may 
" Ty% be as medicinal as these are, at this time begin 
*tW to re-assume their former practice." — Account of 
=. ','iA Presbytery of Penpont, in Macfarlane's MSS. 

1 The idea, that the spirits of the deceased re- 

Of) turn to haunt the place, where on earth they 

" -^i have suffered, or have rejoiced, is, as Dr. John- 

J 7 ) son has observed, common to the popular creed 

C. of all nations. The just and noble sentiment, 



f One of the most noted apparitions is sup- 
posed to haunt Spedlin's castle mar Lochma- 
ben, the ancient baronial residence of the Jar- 
dines of Applegirth. It is said, that, in exercise 
of his territorial jurisdiction, one of the ancient 
lairds had imprisoned, in the Massy More, or 
dungeon of the cattle, a \ «rson named Porteous. 
Being called suddenly to Edinburgh, the laird 
discovered, as he entered the West Port, that 
he had brought along with him the key of th^ 



implanted in our bosoms by the Deity, teaches 
us that we shall not slumber for ever, as the 
beasts that perish. — Human vanity, or credu- 
lity, chequers, with its own inferior and base 
colours, the noble prospect, which is alike held 
out to us by philosophy and by religion. We 
feel, according to the ardent expression of the 
poet, that we shall not wholly die; but from 
hence we vainly and weakly argue, that the 
same scenes, the same passions, shall delight 
I and actuate the disembodied spirit, which 
affected it while in its tenement of clay. Hence 
the popular belief, that the soul haunts the spot 
where the murdered body is interred ; that its 
appearances are directed to bring down ven- 
geance on its murderers ; or that, having left 
its terrestrial form in a distant clime, it glides 
before its former friends, a pale spectre, to warn 
them of its decease. Such tales, the foundation 
of which is an argument from our present feel- 
ings to those of the spiritual world, form the 
broad and universal basis of the popular super- 
stition regarding departed spirits ; against which, 
reason has striven in vain, and universal experi- 
ence has offered a disregarded testimony. These 
legends are peculiarly acceptable to barbarous 
tribes; and, on the borders, they were received 
with most unbounded faith. It is true, that 
these supernatural adversaries were no longer 
opposed by the sword and battle-ax?, as araon; 
the unconverted Scandinavians. Prayers, spehj, 
and exorcisms, particularly in the Greek and 
Hebrew languages, were the weapons of the bor- 
derers, or rather of their priests and cunning 
men, against their aerial enemy, f The belief 

dungeon. Struck with the utmost horror, he 
sent back his servant to relieve the prisoner ; 
but it was too late. The wretched being was 
found lying upon the steps descending from the 
door of the vault starved to death. In the 
agonies of hunger, he had gnawed the flesh from 
one of his arms. That his spectre should haunt 
the castle, was a natu al consequence of such a 
tragedy. Indeed its visits became so frequent, 
that a clergyman of eminence was employed to 



§Ki 












w 



in ghosts, which ha9 been, well termed the last 
lingering phantom of superstition, still main- 
tains its ground upon the borders. 

It is unnecessary to mention the superstitious 
belief in witchcraft, which gave rise to so much 
cruelty and persecution during the seventeenth 
century. There were several executions upon 
the borders for this imaginary crime, which was 
usually tried not by the ordinary judges, but by 



exorcise it. After a contest of twenty -four hours, 
the man of art prevailed so far as to confine the 
goblin to the Massy More of the castle, where its 
shrieks and cries are still heard. A part, at 
least, of the spell, depends upon the preserva- 
tion of the ancient black-lettered bible, em- 
ployed by the exorcist. It was some years ago 
thought necessary to have this bible re-bound ; 
but, as soon as it was removed from the castle, 
the spectre commenced his nocturnal orgies, 
with ten -fold noise ; and it is verily believed that 
he would have burst from his confinement, had 
not the sacred volume been speedily replaced. 

A Mass John Scott, minister of Peebles, is 
reported to have been the last renowned exor- 
ciser, and to have lost his life in a contest with 
an obstinate spirit. This was owing to the con- 
ceited rashness of a young clergyman, who com- 
menced the ceremony of laying the ghost before 
the arrival of Mass John. It is the nature, it 
seems, of spirits disembodied, as well as em- 
bodied, to increase in strength and presump- 
tion, in proportion to the advantages which they 
may gain over the opponent. The young clergy- 
man losing courage, the horrors of the scene 
were increased to such a degree, that, as Mass 
John approached the house in which it passed, 
he beheld the slates and tiles flying from the 
roof, as it dispersed with a whirlwind. At his 
entry, he perceived all the wax -tapers (the most 
essential instruments of conjuration) extin- 
guished, except one, which already burned blue 
in the socket. The arrival of the experienced 
sage changed the scene : he brought the spirit to 
reason ,• but unfortunately, while addressing a 
word of advice or censure to his rash brother, he 
permitted the ghost to obtain the last word ; a 
circumstance which, in all colloquies of this 
nature, is strictly to be guarded against. This 
fatal oversight occasioned his falling into a lin- 
gering disorder, of which he never recovered. 



a set of country gentlemen, acting under com- 
mission from the privy council.f 

Besides these grand articles of superstitious 
belief, the creed of the borderers admitted the . 
existence of sundry classes of subordinate spirits, 
to whom were assigned peculiar employments. 
The chief of these were the Fairies, concerning j 
whom the reader will find a long dissertation in ] 
Volume Second of the Minstrelsy [reprinted in 
the present work, as an Introduction to the 
Fairy Ballads.] The Brownie formed a class of 
beings, distinct in habit and disposition from 
the freakish and mischievous elves. He was 
meagre, shaggy, and wild in his appearance. 
Thus Cleland, in his satire against the Highland- I 
ers, compares them to 

" Faunes, or Brownies, if ye will, 
Or satyres come from Atlas Hill." 

In the day time, he lurked in remote reces- 
ses of the old houses which he delighted to 
haunt ; and, in the night, sedulously employed 
himself in discharging any laborious task which I 
he thought might be acceptable to the family, 
to whose service he had devoted himself. His 
name is probably derived from the Portuni, 
whom Gervase of Tilbury describes thus : " Ecce 
enim in Anglia daemones quosdam habent, dwmo- 
nes, inquam, nescio dixerim, an secretes et ighotee 
generationis effigies, quos Galli Neptunos, Angli 
Portunos nominantT Istis insitum est quod sjm- 
plicitatem fortunatorum colonorum amplectuntur, 
et cum nocturnas propter domesticas operas agunt 
vigilias, subito clausis januis ad ignem calejiunt, 
et ranunculus ex sinu projectos, prunis impositos 
concedunt, senili vultu, facie corrugata, statura 
pusilli, dimidium pollicis non habentes. Panni- 
culis consertis induuntur, et si quid gestandum in 
domofuerit, aid onerosi oj>eris agendum, ad oper- 
andutn se jungunt, citius humana facilitate expe- 

f 1 have seen, penes Hugh Scott, Esq. of Har- 
den, the record of the trial of a witch, who was 
burned at Ducove. She was tried in the man- 
) ner above mentioned. 



■^6 



yy 



diunt. Id Mis insitum est, id obsequi possint et 
obesse non possint." — Otia Imp. p. 980. In 
every respect, saving only the feeding upon frogs, 
■which was probably an attribute of the Gallic 
spirits alone, the above description corresponds 
with that of the Scottish Brownie. But the 
latter, although, like Milton's lubbar fiend, he 
loves to stretch himself by the fire,f does not 
drudge from the hope of recompense. On the 
contrary, so delicate is his attachment, that the 
offer of reward, but particularly of food, infalli- 
bly occasions his disappearance for ever.i We 

f how the drudging goblin swet, 

To earn the cream-bowl, duly set: 
When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 
His shadowv flail had threshed the corn, 
That ten day-lab'rers could uot end : 
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend. 
And, srretch'd out all the chimney's length, 
Basks at the fire his hai'-y strength : 
And, crop-full, out of c.oors he flings, 
Ere the first cock his matcin rings. 

I/Allegro. 

"When the menials in a Scottish family pro- 
tracted their vigils around the kitchen fire, 
Brownie, weary of being excluded from the mid- 
night hearth, sometimes appeared at the door, 
seemed to watch their departure, and thus ad- 
monished them, — " Gang a' to your beds, sirs, 
and dinna put out the wee grieshoch (embeis.)" 

$ It is told of a Brownie, who haunted a bor- 
der family, now extinct, that the lady having 
fallen unexpectedly in labour, and the servant, 
who was ordered to ride to Jedburgh for the 
sage femme, showing no great alertness in set- 
ting out, the familiar spirit slipt on the great- 
coat of the lingering domestic, rode to the town 
on the laird's best horse, and returned with the 
midwife en croupe. During the short space of 
his absence, the Tweed, which they must neces- 
sarily ford, rose to a dangerous height. Brownie, 
who transported his charge with all the rapidity 
of the ghostly lover of Lenore, was not to be 
stopped by this obstacle. He plunged in with 
the terrified old lady, and landed her in safety 
where her services were wanted. Having put 
the horse into the stable (w^here it was after- 
wards found in a woeful plight), he proceeded to 
the room of the servant, whose duty he had dis- 
charged; and, finding him just in the act of 
drawing on his boots, he administered to him a 
most merciless drubbing with his own horse- 



learn from Olaus Magnus, that spirits, somewhat 
similar in their operations to the Brownie, were 
supposed to haunt the Swedish mines. The 
passage, in the translation of 1658, runs thus : 
" This is collected in briefe, that in northerne 
kingdomes, there are great armies of devils, that 
have their services, which they perform with the 
inhabitants of these countries: but they are 
most frequently in rocks and mines, where they 
break, cleave, and make them hollow : which 
also thrust in pitchers and buckets, and care- 
fully fit wheels and screws, whereby they are 
drawn upwards; and they shew themselves to 
the labourers, when they list, like phantasms 
and ghosts." It seems no improbable conjec- 
ture, that the Brownie is a legitimate descend- j 
ant of the Lar Familiaris of the ancients. 

A being, totally distinct from those hitherto 
mentioned, is the Bogle, or Goblin ; a freakish 
spirit, who delights rather to perplex and 
frighten mankind, than either to serve, or seri- 
ously to hurt them. This is the Esprit Follet of 
the French; and Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, 
though enlisted by Shakespeare among the fairy 
band of Oberon, properly belongs to this class of 
phantoms. Shelly coat, a spirit who resides : 
the waters, and has given his name to many a 
rock and stone upon the Scottish coast, belongs - 



whip. Such an important service excited the 
gratitude of the laird ; who, understanding that 
Brownie had been heard to express a wish to 
have a green coat, ordered a vestment of that 
colour to be made and left in his haunts. 
Brownie took away the green coat, but was 
never seen more. "We may suppose, that, tired 
of his domestic drudgery, he went in his new 
livery to join the fairies. 

The last Brownie, known in Ettrick forest, 
resided in Bodsbeck, a wild and solitary- spot, 
where he exercised his functions undisturbed, 
till the scrupulous devotion of an old lady in- 
duced her to hire him away, as it was termed, 
by placing in his haunt a porringer of milk and 
a piece of money. After receiving this hint to 
depart, he was heard the whole night to howl 
and cry, " Farewell to bonny Bodsbeck ! " which 
he was compelled to abandon for ever. 



r W 



m 



also to the class of bogles j- When he appeared, 
he seemed to be decked with marine produc- 
tions, and, in particular, with shells, whose 
clattering announced his approach. From this 
circumstance he derived his name. He may, 
perhaps, be identified with the goblin of the 
northern English, which, in the towns and 
cities, Durham and Newcastle for example, had 
the name of Barguest ; £ but, in the country 
villages, was more frequently termed Brag. He 
usually ended his mischievous frolics with a 
horse-laugh. 

Shellycoat must not be confounded with Kelpy, 
a water spirit also, but of a much more power- 
ful and malignant nature. His attributes have 
been the subject of a poem in Lowland Scot- 
tish, by the learned Dr Jamieson of Edinburgh, 
[given in the present collection.] Of Kelpy, 
therefore, it is unnecessary to say anything at 
present. 

Of all these classes of spirits it may be, in 

| One of his pranks is thus narrated : Two 
men, in a very dark night, approaching the 
banks of the Ettrick, heard a doleful voice from 
its waves repeatedly exclaim : — " Lost ! Lost ! " 
They followed the sound, which seemed to be the 
voice of a drowning person, and, to their infinite 
astonishment, they found that it ascended the 
river. Still they continued, during a long and 
tempestuous night, to follow the cry of the mali- 
cious sprite; and arriving, before morning's 
dawn, at the very sources of the river, the voice 
was now heard descending the opposite side of 
the mountain in which they arise. The fatigued 
and deluded travellers now relinquished the pur- 
suit; and had no sooner done so, than they 
heard Shellycoat applauding, in loud bursts of 
laughter, his successful roguery. The spirit was 
supposed particularly to haunt the old house of 
Gorinberry, situated on the river Hermitage, in 
Liddesdale. 

i This is a sort of spirit peculiar to those towns. 
He has made his appearance in this very year 
(1SJ9) in that of York, if the vulgar may be cre- 
dited. His name is derived by Grose, from his 
appearing near bars or stiles, but seems rather 
to come from the German Bahr-Geist, or spirit 
of the Bier. 



4v general, observed, that their attachment was 
supposed to be local, and not personal. They 
haunted the rock, the stream, the ruined castle, 
without regard to the persons or families to 
whom the property belonged. Hence they dif- 
fered entirely from that species of spirits, to 
whom, in the Highlands, is ascribed the guar- 
dianship, or superintendence of a particular 
clan, or family of distinction ; and who, perhaps 
yet more than the Brownie, resemble the classic 
household gods. Thus, in a MS. history of Mo- 
ray, we are informed, that the family of Gurlin- 
beg is haunted by a spirit, called Garlin Boda- 
cher ; that of the baron of Kinchardin, by Lamh- 
dearg, § or Red-hand, a spectre, one of whose 
hands is as red as blood ; that of Tullochgorm, 
by May Moulach, a female figure, whose left 
hand and arm were covered with hair, who is 
also mentioned in Aubrey's Miscellanies, pp. 211, 
212, as a familiar attendant upon the clan Grant. 
These superstitions were so ingrafted in the po- 
pular creed, that the clerical synods and presby- 
teries were wont to take cognizance of them. |j 

Various other superstitions, regarding magi- 
cians, spells, prophecies,, &c, will claim our 
attention in the progress of this work. For the 



§ The following notice of Lamhdearg occurs in 
ar. other account of Strathspey, apud Macfarlane's 
MSS.: — "There is much talke of a spirit called 
Ly-erg, who frequents the Glenmore. He ap- 
pears with a red-hand, in the habit of a souldier, 
and challenges men to fight with him ; as lately 
as 1669, he fought with three brothers, one after 
another, who immediately died thereafter." 

|| There is current, in some parts of Germany, 
a fanciful superstition concerning the Stille Volke, 
or silent people. These they suppose to be at- 
tached to houses of eminence, and to consist of 
a number, corresponding to that of the mortal 
family, each person of which has thus his repre- 
sentative amongst these domestic spirits. When 
the lady of the family has a caild, the queen of 
the silent people is delivered in the same moment. 
They endeavour to give warning when danger 
approaches the family, assist in warding it off, 
and are sometimes seen to weep and wring their 
hands before inevitable calamity. 




present, therefore, taking the advice of an old 
Scottish rhymer, let us 

"Leave bogles, brownies, gyre carlinges, and 
ghaists." f 
Flyting of Polrvart and Montgomery. 

The domestic economy of the borderers next 
engages our attention. That the revenue of the 
chieftain should be expanded in rude hospitality 
was the natural result of his situation. His 
wealth consisted chiefly in herds of cattle, which 
were consumed by the kinsmen, vassals, and fol- 
lowers, who aided him to acquire and to protect 
them 4 We learn from Lesley, that the bor- 
derers were temperate in their use of intoxicat- 

f So generally wese those tales of diablerie 
believed, that one William Lithgow, a bon 
vivant, who appears to have been a native, or 
occasional inhabitant, of Melrose, is celebrated 
by the pot-companion who composed his elegy, 
because 

He was good company at jeists, 

And wanton when he came to feists. 

He tc ru'd the converse of great beasts, 
O'er a sheep's head : 

He latjgh'd at stories about ghaists: 
Blyth AViliie's dead' 
Watson's Scottish Poems, Edin. 1706. 
$ We may form some idea of the style of life 
maintained by the border warriors, from the 
anecdotes, handed down by tradition, concern- 
ing Walter Scott of Harden, who flourished to- 
wards the middle of the sixteenth century. This 
ancient laird was a renowned freebooter, and 
used to ride with a numerous band of followers. 
The spoil, which they carried off from England, 
or from their neigh ours, was concealed in a 
deep and impervious glen, on the brink of which 
the old tower of Harden was situated. From 
thence the cattle were brought out, one by one, 
as they were wanted, to supply the rude and 
plentiful table of the laird. When the last bul- 
lock was killed and devoured, it was the lady's 
custom to place on the table a dish, which, on 
being uncovered, was found to contain a pair of 
clean spurs, a hint to the riders, that they must 
shift for their next meal. Upon one occasion, 
when the village herd was driving out the cattle 
to pasture, the old laird heard him call loudly, 
to drive out Harden' s cow. " Harden' s cow! " { 



ing liquors, and we are therefore left to conjec- 
ture how they occupied the time, when winter, 
or when accident, confined them to their habi- 
tations. The little learning, which existed in 
the middle ages, glimmered a dim and dy- 
ing flame in the religious houses ; and even in 



echoed the affronted chief— "Is it come to that 
pass? by my faith, they shall sune say Harden's 
kye," (cows.) Accordingly, he sounded his bugle, 
mounted his horse, set out with his followers, 
and returned next day with "a bow of kye, and a 
bassen'd (brindled) bull." On his return with 
this gallant prey, he passed a very large hay- i 
stack. It occurred to the provident laird, that ! 
this would be extremely convenient to fodder 
his new stock of cattle ; but as no means of 
transporting it occurred, he was fain to take 
leave of it with this apostrophe, now proverbial : 
" By my soul, had ye but four feet, ye should not 
stand lang there." In short, as Froissart says 
of a similar class of ftudal robbers, nothing came 
amiss to them, that was net too heavy, or too hot. 
The same mode of house-keeping characterized 
most border families on both sides. A MS. 
quoted in History of Cumberland, p. 466, con- j 
cerning the Graemes of Netherby, and others of 
that clan, runs thus : " They were all stark moss- , 
troopers and arrant thieves; both to England 
and Scotland outlawed ; yet sometimes connived 
at, because they gave intelligence forth of Scot- 
land, and would raise 400 horse at any time, ^ 
upon a raid of the English into Scotland." A 
saying is recorded of a mother to her son (which 
is now become proverbial), "Ride, Ruirfy (Row- 
land,) hough's i' the pot ; " that is, the last piece 
of beef was in the pot, and therefore it was high 
time for him to go and fetch more. To such 
men might with justice be applied the poet's 
descripti n of the Cretan warrior, translated by 
my friend, Dr Leyden: 

My sword, my spear, my shaggv shield, 
With these I till, wit., these I sow: 

"With these I reap my harvest field, 
The only wealth the gods bestow. 

With these I plant the purple vine, 

With these I press the luscious wine. 

My sword, my spear, my shaggy shield, 

They make me lord of all below : 
For he who dreads the lance to wield, 

Before my shaggy shield must bow. 
His lands, his vineyards, must resign, 
And all that cownid Mv i- inin- 

Hybrias (ap. Athenaeum.) 



G& 



M 



*& 



9i 



fS? 



w 



the sixteenth century, when its beams became ^ 
more widely diffused, they were far from pene- 
trating the recesses of the border mountains. 
The tales of tradition, the song, with the pipe or 
harp of the minstrel, were probably the sole 
resources against ennui, during the short inter- 
vals of repose from military adventure. 

This brings us to the more immediate subject 
of the present publication. 

i Lesley, who dedicates to the description of 
border manners a chapter, which we have al- 
ready often quoted, notices particularly the 
taste of the marehmen for music and ballad 
poetry. " Placent. admodum sibi sua musica, et 
rythmicis suis cantionibus, quas de majorum suo- 
rum gestis, aid ingeniosis prcedandi precandive 
stratagematis ipsi confingunt." — Leslaeus, in ca- 
pitulo de morhis eorum, qui Scotia limites Ang- 
Ham versus incolunt. The more rude and wild 
the state of society, the more general and vio- 
lent is the impulse received from poetry and 
music. The muse, whose effusions are the 
amusement of a very small part of a polished 
nation, records, in the lays of inspiration, the 
history, the laws, the very religion, of savages. — 
Where the pen and the press are wanting, the 
flow of numbers impresses upon the memory of 
posterity the deeds and sentiments of their fore- 
fathers. Verse is naturally connected with 
music; and, among a rude people, the union is 
seldom broken. By this natural alliance, the 
lays, "steeped in the stream of harmony," are 
more easily retained by the reciter, and produce 
upon his audience a more impressive effect. 

•Hence, there has hardly been found to exist a 
nation so brutishly rude, as not to listen with 
enthusiasm to the songs of their bards, recount- 
ing the exploits of their forefathers, recording 
their laws and moral precepts, or hymning the 
praises of their deities. But, where the feelings 
are frequently stretched to the highest pitch, by 
the vicissitudes of a life of danger and military 
adventure, this predisposition of a savage people, 
to admire their own rude poetry and music, is ^ 



heightened, and its tone becomes peculiarly de- 
termined. It is not the peaceful Hindu at his 
loom, it is not the timid Esquimaux in his canoe, 
whom we must expect to glow at the war-song 
of Tyrtteus. The music and the poetry of each 
country must keep pace with their usual tone of 
mind, as well as with the state of society. 

The morality of their compositions is deter- 
mined by the same circumstances. Those themes 
are necessarily chosen by the bard, which regard 
the favourite exploits of the hearers; and he 
celebrates only those virtues which from infancy 
he has been taught to admire. Hence, as re- 
marked by Lesley, the music and songs of the 
borders were of a military nature, and celebrated 
the valour and success of their predatory expe- 
ditions. Razing, like Shakespeare's pirate, the 
eighth commandment from the decalogue, the 
minstrels praised their chieftains for the very 
exploits, against which the laws of the country 
denounced a capital doom. — An outlawed free- 
booter was to them a more interesting person 
than the King of Scotland exerting his power to 
punish his depredations ; and, when the char- 
acters are contrasted, the latter is always repre- 
sented as a ruthless and sanguinary tyrant. — 
Spenser's description of the bards of Ireland ap- 
plies, in some degree, to our ancient border poets- 
■' There is, among the Irish, a certain kinde of 
people called bardes, which are to them instead 
of poets ; whose profession is to set forth the 
praises or dispraises of men, in their poems or 
rhymes; the which are had in such high regard 
or esteem amongst them, that none dare dis- 
please them, for fear of running into reproach 
through their offence, and to be made infamous 
in the mouths of all men ; for their verses are 
taken up with a general applause, and usually 
sung at all feasts and meetings, by certain other 
persons, whose proper function that is, who also 
receive, for the same, great rewards and reputa- 
tion amongst them." Spenser, having bestowed 
due praise upon the poets, who sung the praises 
of the good and virtuous, informs us, that the 



r&te 



»i£V3FG*£: 





CK> 



bards, on the contrary, " seldom use to chuse 
unto themselves the doings of good men for the 
arguments of their poems; but whomsoever 
theyfinde to be most licentious of life, most bold 
and lawless in his doings, most dangerous and 
desperate in all parts of disobedience, and rebel- 
lious disposition, him they set up and glorify in 
their rhythmes ; him they praise to the people, 
and to young men make an example to follow." 
— Eudoxus. " I marvail what kind of speeches 
they can find, or what faces they can put on, to 
praise such bad persons, as live so lawlessly and 
licentiously upon stealths and spoyles, as most 
of them do; or how they can think that any 
good mind will applaud or approve the same." 
In answer to this question, Irenceus, after re- 
marking the giddy and restless disposition of the 
ill-educated youth of Ireland, which made them 
prompt to receive evil counsel, adds, that such a 
person, " if he shall find any to praise him, and 
to give him any encouragement, as those bards 
and rhythmers do, fur little reward, or share of 
a stolen cow,f then waxeth he most insolent, 
and half-mad, with the love of himself and his 
own lewd deeds. And as for words to set forth 
such lewdness, it is not hard for them to give a 
goodly and painted show thereunto, borrowed 
even from the praises which are proper to vir- 
tue itself. As of a most notorious thief, and 
wicked outlaw, which had lived all his life-time 
of spoils and robberies, one of their bardes, in 
his praise, will say, " that he was none of the 
idle milk-sops that was brought up by their 
fireside, but that most of his days he spent in 
arms, and valiant enterprises ; that he never 
did eat his meat before he had won it with his 
sword ; that he lay not all night slugging in his 



•f The reward of the "Welsh bards, and perhaps 
of those upon the border, was very similar. It 
was enacted by Howel Dha, that if the king's 
bard played before a body of warriors, upon a 
predatory excursion, he should receive, in recom- 
peuce, the best cow which the party carried off. 

Pm — Leges Walliee, 1. 1. cap. 19. 

^ V 



cabin under his mantle, but used commonly to 

keep others waking to defend their lives, and 

! did light his candle at the flames of their houses 

to lead him in the darkness; that the day was 

I his night, and the night his day; that he loved 

i not to be long wooing of wenches to yield to 

i him ; but, where he came, he took by force the 

i spoil of other men's love, and left but lamenta- '%-. 

I tions to their lovers; that his music was not the 

harp, nor lays of love, but the cries of people, 

| and clashing of armour; and finally, that he 

; died, not bewailed of many, but made many 

, wail when he died, that dearly bought his drath. 

I Do not you think, Eudoxus, that many of these 

praises might be applied to men of best deserts ? 

Yet are they all yielded to a most notable 

traitor, and amongst some of the Irish not 

smally accounted of." — State of Ireland. The 

same concurrence of circumstances, so well 

pointed out by Spenser, as dictating the topics 

of the Irish bards, tuned the border harps to the 

praise of an outlawed Armstrong, or Murray. 

For similar reasons, flowing from the state of 
society, the reader must not expect to find, in 
the border ballads, refined sentiment, and, far 
less, elegant expression ; although the style of 
such compositions has, in modern hands, been 
found highly susceptible of both. But passages 
might be pointed out, in which the rude mins- 
t:el has melted in natural pathos, or risen into 
rude energy. Even where these graces are to- 
tally wanting, the interest of the stories them- 
selves, and the curious picture of manners which 
they frequently present, authorise them to claim 
some respect from the public. 



VLJiiS P« 



ri 






rt 










THE SCOTTISH EDITION. 

f " The following edition of the Battle of Otter- 
bourne," says Sir Walter Scott, " being essen- 
tially different from that which is published in 
the Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. i., and being 
obviously of Scottish cornpositon, claims a place 
in the present collection, [Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border.] The particulars of that 
noted action are related by Froissart, with 
the highest encomium upon the valour of the 
combatants on each side. James, earl of Doug- 
las, with his brother, the earl of Murray, in 
1387 invaded Northumberland, at the head of 
3000 men ; while the earls of Fife and Strathern, 
6ons to the king of Scotland, ravaged the west- 
ern borders of England, with a still more nume- 
rous army. Douglas penetrated as far as New- 
castle, where the renowned Hotspur lay in gar- 
rison. In a skirmish before the walls, Percy's 
lance, with the pennon, or guidon, attached to 
it, was taken by Douglas, as most authors affirm, 
in a personal encounter betwixt the two heroes. 
The earl shook the pennon aloft, and swore he 
would carry it as his spoil into Scotland, and 
plant it upon his castle of Dalkeith. ' That,' 
answered Percy, ' shalt thou never ! ' — Accord- 
ingly, having collected the forces of the marches, 
to a number equal, or (according to the Scot- 
tish historians) much superior, to the army of 
Douglas, Hotspur made a night attack upon the 
Scottish camp, at Otterbourne, about thirty-two 
miles from Newcastle. An action took place, 
fought by moon-light, with uncommon gallan- 
try and desperation. At length, Douglas, armed 
with an iron mace, which few but he could 
wield, rushed into the thickest of the English 
battalions, followed only by his chaplain, and 
two squires of his body, f Before his followers 
could come up, their brave leader was stretched 
on the ground, with three mortal wounds: his 
squires lay dead by his side; the priest alone, 
armed with a lance, was protecting his master 
from farther injury. ' I die like my forefathers,' 
said the expiring hero, * in a field of battle, and 



t Their names were Robert Ha t and Simon Glen- 
dinning. The chaplain was Richard Lundie, after- 
wards archdean of Aberdeen. — Godscroft. Hart, 
according to Wintoun, was a knight. That historian 
says, uo one knew how Douglas fell. 



not on a bed of sickness. Conceal my death, 
defend my standard, % and avenge my fall ! it i3 
an old prophecy, that a dead man shall gain a 
field, § and I hope it will be accomplished this 
nigbt.' — Godscroft. — "With these words he ex- 
pired ; and the fight was renewed with double 
obstinacy around his body. When morning ap- 
peared, however, victory began to incline to the 
Scottish side. Ralph Percy, brother to Hotspur, 
was made prisoner by the earl Marischal, and 
shortly after, Harry Percy || himself was taken 
by lord Montgomery. The number of captives, 
according to Wintoun, nearly equalled that of 
the victors. Upon this the English retired, and 
left the Scots masters of the dear-bought hon- 
ours of the field. But the bishop of Durham 
approaching, at the head of a body of fresh for- 
ces, not only checked the pursuit of the victors, 
but made prisoners of some of the stragglers, 
who had urged the chase too far. The battle 
was not, however, renewed, as the bishop of 
Durham did not venture to attempt the rescue 
of Percy. The field was fought 15th August, 
1388.— Fordun, Froissart, Hollinshed, Godscroft. 
" The ground on which this memorable engage- 
ment took place, is now [edition of the Mins- 
trelsy, 1812,] the property of John Davidson, 
Esq. of Newcastle, and still retains the name of 
Battle Cross. A cross, erroneously termed Percy's 
Cross, has been erected upon the spot where the 
gallant earl of Douglas is supposed to have fallen. 
The castle of Otterbourne, which was besieged by 
Douglas, with its demesne lands, is now [edit, ut 
supra] the property of James Ellis, Esq. who is 
also proprietor of a neighbouring eminence called 
Fawdoun-hill, on which may yet be discerned the 
vestiges of the Scottish camp, agreeing with the 
description of the ballad, ' They lighted high on 
Otterbourne.' Earl's Meadows, containing a 
fine spring called Percy's well, are a part of the 
same gentleman's grounds, and probably derive 
their name from the battle. The camp on Faw- 
doun-hill is a mile distant from Battle Crofts, 



US 



m 



J The banner of Douglas, upon this memorable oc- 
casion, was borne by hi* natural son, Archibald Doug- 
las, ancestor of the family of Cavers, hereditary sheriffs 
of Teviotdale, amongst whose archives this glorious 
relique is still preserved. The earl, at his onset, is 
said to have charged his son to defend it to the last 
drop of his blood. 

§ This prophecy occurs in the ballad as an omi- 
nous dream. 

|| Hotspur, for his ransom, built the castle of Pe- 
noon, in Ay i shire, belonging to the family of Mont- 
gomery, now earls of Eglintoun. 



WtK 




x but it must be remembered that the various 
I F^cO changes of position and of fortune during so 
J^~> long and fierce an engagement between two 
^(S^N considerable armies, must have extended the 
L_ Jj? conflict over all the vicinity. 
J =.=r \ « xhe ballad, published in the Reliques, is avow- 
CSkP*"i edly an English production; and the author, 
\c^P\ with a natural partiality, leans to the side of his 
%/C=Ja countrymen ; yet that ballad, or some one simi- 
f^ ^ lar, modified probably by national prejudice, 
L-=|F"\ must have been current in Scotland during the 
lv,a J reign of James VI.: for Godscroft, in treating 
(J^—^T) of this battle, mentions its having been the sub- 
/"CSO ject of popular song, and proceeds thus: 'But 
=r =f\ that which is commonly sung of the Hunting of 
IJjJ Cheviot, seemeth indeed poetical, and a mere 
y fiction, perhaps to stir up virtue ; yet a fiction 
yo^px whereoi there is no mention, either in the Scot- 
L/f -^ tish or English Chronicle. Neither are the 
songs that are made of them, both one; for the 
Scots Song made of Otterbourne, telleth the time, 
about Lammas ; and also the occasion, to take 
preys out of England; also the dividing the 
armies betwixt the earls of Fife and Douglas, 
and their several journies, almost as in the 
authentic history. It beginneth thus : 

'It fell about the Lammas tide, 
When yeomen win their hay, 

The docnty Douglas 'gan to ride, 
In England to take a prey.' 

Godscroft, ed. Edin. 1/43. vol. i. p. 195. 

I cannot venture to assert, that the stanzas, 
here published, belong to the ballad alluded to 
by Godscroft ; but they come much nearer to his 
description than the copy published in the first 
edition, which represented Douglas as falling by 
the poniard of a faithless page. Yet we learn 
from the same author, that the story of the ass- 
assination was not without foundation in tradi- 
tion. — 'There are that say, that he (Douglas) 
was not slain by the enemy, but by one of his 
own men, a groom of his chamber, whom he 
had struck the day before with a truncheon, in 
ordering of the battle, because he saw him make 
somewhat slowly to. And they name this man 
John Bickerton of Luffness, who left a part of 
his armour behind unfastened, and when he was 
in the greatest conflict, this servant of his came 
behind his back, and slew him thereat.' — Gods- 
croft, ut supra.— But this narration,' adds the 
historian, ' is not so probable.' {• Indeed it 



t Wintoun assigns another cause for Douglas being 
»N* ~$ j «arelessly aimed : 



seems to have no foundation, but the common 
desire of assigning some remote and extraor- 
dinary cause for the death of a great man. The 
following ballad is also inaccurate in many other 
particulars, and is much shorter, and more in- 
distinct, than that printed in the Reliques, al- 
though many verses are almost the same. Hots- 
pur, for instance, is called Earl Percy, a title he 
never enjoyed. Neither was Douglas buried on 
the field of battle, but in Melrose Abbey, where 
his tomb is still shown. 

" This song was first published from Mr Herd's 
Collection of Scottish Songs and Ballads, Edin. 
1774, 2 vols, octavo ; but two recited copies have 
fortunately been obtained from the recitation of 
old persons residing at the head of Ettrick For- 
est, by which the story is brought out, and com- 
pleted in a manner much more correspondent to 
the true history. 

" I cannot dismiss the subject of the battle of 
Otterbourne, without stating (with all the de- 
ference due to the father of this species of litera- 
ture) some doubts which have occurred to an 
ingenious correspondent, and an excellent anti- 
quary, concerning the remarks on the names 
subjoined to the ballads of Chevy Chase and 
Otterbourne in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry. 

" ' John de Lovele, sheriff of Northumberland, 
34th Hen. VII.,' is evidently a mistake, as 
Henry VII. did not reign quite twenty-four 
years ; but the person meant was probably John 
de Lavale, knight, of Delavale castle, who was 
sheriff, 34th Henry VIII. There seems little 
doubt that the person called in the ballad "the 
gentil Lovel,' sir Raff the rich Eugbe, was pro- 
bably sir Ealph Neville of Eauy castle, son of 
the first earl of Westmoreland, and cousin -ger- 
man to Hotspur. In the more modern edition 
of the ballad, he is expressly called sir Ealph 
Eabby, i. e. of Eaby. 

" With respect to the march of Douglas, as 
described in the ballad, it appears tiiat he 
entered Northumbeidand from the westward. 
Eedesdale, Eothely-crags, and Green Leighton, 
are a few miles eastward of Otterbourne. Otter- 
scope-hill lies south-west from Green Leighton. ; 



"The erle Jamys was sa besy, 
Por til ordane his company ; 

And on his fays for to pas, i^S\ £> 

That reckles he of his armyng was : 
The erle of Mwrrawys bassenet, 

Thai sayd, at thot tyme was terryhete." \^ -=. | 

Book VIII. Chap. 7. ^HC J 
The circumstance of Donglas' omitting to put on i^~ = 
his helmet occurs in the ballad. 







" The celebrated Hots-pur, son of the first earl of 
Northumberland, was, in 3385, governor of Ber- 
wick, and warden of the east marches ; in which 
last capacity it was his duty to repel the invasion 
of Douglas. 

" Sir Henry Fitzhugh, mentioned in the ballad, 
was one of the earl of Northumberland's com- 
manders at the battle of Homeldown. 

" As to the local situation of Otterbourne, it is 
thirty statute miles from Newcastle, though 
Buchanan has diminished the distance to eight 
miles only. 

w The account given of Sir John of Agurstone 
seems also liable to some doubt. This personage 
is there supposed to have been one of the Hager- 
stones of Hagerston, a Northumbrian family, 
who, according to the fate of war, were some- 
times subjects of Scotland. I cannot, however, 
think, that at this period, while the English 
were in possession both of Berwick and Rox- 
burgh, with the intermediate fortresses of Wark, 
Cornhill, and Norham, the Scots possessed any 
part of Northumberland, much less a manor 
which lay within that strong chain of castles. 
I should presume the person alluded to rather 
to have been one of the Rutherfords, barons of 
Edgerstane, or Edgerston, a warlike family, 
which has long flourished on the Scottish bor- 
ders, and who were, at this very period, retain- 
ers of the house of Douglas. The same notes 
contain an account of the other Scottish war- 
riors of distinction, who were present at the 
battle. These were, the earls of Monteith, 
Buchan, and Huntly; the barons of Maxwell 
and Johnston ; Swinton of that ilk, an ancient 
family, which about that period produced several 
distinguished warriors; Sir David (or rather, as 
the learned editior well remarks, Sir Walter) 
Scott of Buccleuch, Stewart of Garlies, and 
Murray of Cockpool. 

Regibus et legibus Scotici constantes, 
Vos clypeis et g'a liis pro patria pugnantes, 
Vestra est victoria, vestra est et gloria, 
In cautu et his' o ia, perpes est memorial "] 

It fell about the Lammas tide, 

When the muir-men win their hay, 

The doughty earl of Douglas rode 
Into England, to catch a prey. 

He chose the Gordons and the Graemes, 
With them the Lindesays, light and gay ; 

But the Jardines wald not with him ride, 
And they rue it to this day.f 



And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne, 
And part of Bambrough shire ; 

And three good towers on Roxburgh fells, 
He left them ail on fire. 



f The Gordons, Graemes, Lindesays, Jardines. — 
The illustrious family of Gordon was originally 
settled upon the lands of Gordon and Huntly, in 
the shire of Berwick, and are, therefore, of bor- 
der extraction. The steps by which they re- 
moved from thence to the shires of Aberdeen 
and Inverness, are worthy notice. In 1300, Adam 
de Gordon was warden of the marches. — Rymer, 
vol. ii. p. 870. He obtained, from Robert the 
Bruce, a grant of the forfeited estate of David de 
Strathbolgie, Earl of Athol; but no possession 
followed, the earl having returned to his alle- 
giance. — John de Gordon, his great-grandson, 
obtained, from Robert II., a new charter of the 
lands of Strathbolgie, which had been once 
more and finally forfeited, by David, Earl of 
Athol, slain in the battle of Kilblane. This 
grant is dated 13th July, 1376. John de Gor- 
don, who was destined to transfer, from the bor- 
ders of England to those of the Highlands, a 
powerful and martial race, was himself a re- 
doubted warrior, and many of his exploits occur 
in the annals of that turbulent period. In 
1371-2, the English borderers invaded and plun- 
dered the lands of Gordon, on the Scottish east 
march. Sir John of Gordon retaliated, by an 
incursion on Northumberland, where he col- 
lected much spoil. But, as he returned with 
his booty, he was attacked at unawares, by Sir 
John Lillburne, a Northumbrian, who, with a 
superior force, lay near Carham in ambush, to 
intercept him. Gordon harangued and cheered 
his followers, charged the English gallantly, 
and, after having himself been five times in 
great peril, gained a complete victory ; slaying 
many southerns, and taking their leader and 
his brother captive. According to the prior of 
Lochlevin, he was desperately wounded; but 



Shortly after this exploit, Sir John of Gordon 
encountered and routed Sir Thomas Musgrave, 
a renowned English marchman, whom he made 
prisoner. The lord of Johnstone had, about the 
same time, gained a great advantage on the 
west border ; and hence, says Wyntoun, 



And he march'd up to Newcastle, 
And rode it round about; 

" wha's the lord of this castle, 
Or wha's the lady o't ? " 



He and the Lord of Gordowne 
Had a soverane gud renown, 
Of ony that war of thave degre, 
For fall thai war of gret bounte. 

Upon another occasion, John of Gordon is 
said to have partially succeeded in the surprisal 
v of the town of Berwick, although the superio- 
rity of the garrison obliged him to relinquish 
f his enterprise. 

The ballad is accurate, in introducing this 
warrior, with his clan, into the host of Douglas 
at Otterbourne. Perhaps, as he was in posses- 
si sion of his extensive northern domains, he 
brought to the field the northern broad-swords, 
. as well as the lances of his eastern borderers. 
With his gallant leader, he lost his life in the 
deadly conflict. The English ballad comme- 
morates his valour and prudence ; 

"'J " The Erie of Huntly, cawte and kene." 

But the title is a premature designation. The 
earldom of Huntly was first conferred on Alex- 
ander Seaton, who married the grand-daughter 
of the hero of Otterbourne, and assumed his 
title from Huntly, in the north. Besides his 
sj eldest son Adam, who carried on the line of the 
1 family, Sir John de Gordon left two sons, known 
J in tradition by the familiar names of Jock and 
A Tarn. The former was the ancestor of the Gor- 
'"j dons of Pitlurg; the latter of those of Lesmoir, 
J and of Craig-Gordon. Tfrs last family is now 
represented by James Gordon, Esq. of Craig, 
- being the eleventh, in direct descent, from Sir 
John de Gordon. 
The clan of Graeme, always numerous and 
= powerful upon the border, were of Scottish ori- 
1 gin, and deduce the descent of their chieftain, 
J Graeme of Netherby, from John with the bright 
a sword, a son of Malice Graeme, Earl of Menteith, 
! who flourished in the fourteenth century. Lat- 
% terly, they became Englishmen, as the phrase 
I went, and settled upon the Debateable Land, 
whence they were transported to Ireland, by 
h James VI., with the exception of a very few res- 
pectable families; " because," said his majesty 
i in a proclamation, "they do all (but especially 
the Graemes) confess themselves to be no meet 



But up spake proud Lord Percy, then, 

And O but he spake hie ! 
" I am the lord of this castle, 

My wife's the lady gay." 



persons to live in these countries; and also to 
the intent their lands may be inhabited by 
others, of good and honest conversation." But, 
in the reign of Henry IV., the Graemes of the 
border still adhered to the Scottish allegiance, 
as appears from the tower of Graeme in Annan - 
dale, Graeme's Walls in Tweeddale, and other 
castles within Scotland, to which they have 
given their name. The reader is, however, at 
liberty to suppose, that the Graemes of the Len- 
nox and Menteith, always ready to shed their 
blood in the cause of their country, on this oc- 
casion joined Douglas. 

The chief of this ancient family, at the date of 
the battle of Otterbourne, was David Lindissay, 
lord of Glenesk, afterwards created earl Of Craw- 
ford. He was, after the manner of the times, a 
most accomplished knight. He survived the 
battle of Otterbourne, and the succeeding car- 
nage of Homildon. In May, 1390, he went to 
England, to seek adventures of chivalry; and 
justed, upon London Bridge, against the lord of 
Wells, an English knight, with so much skill 
and success, as to excite among the spectators a 
suspicion that he was tied to his saddle; which 
he removed, by riding up to the royal chair, 
vaulting out of his saddle, and resuming his 
seat without assistance, although loaded with 
complete armour. In 1392, Lindsay was nearly- 
slain in a strange manner. A band of Catter- 
ans, or wild Highlanders, had broken down from 
the Grampian Hills, and were engaged in plun- 
dering the county of Angus. Walter Ogilvy, 
the sheriff, with Sir Patrick Gray, marched 
against them, and were joined by Sir David 
Lindsay. Their whole retinue did not exceed 
sixty men, and the Highlanders were above 
three hundred. Nevertheless, trusting to the 
superiority of arms and discipline, the knights 
rushed on the invaders, at Gasclune, in the 
Stormont. The issue was unfortunate. Ogilvy, 
his brother, and many of his kindred, were 
overpowered and slain. Lindsay, armed at all 
points, made great slaughter among the naked 
Catterans ; but, as he pinned one of them to the 
earth with his lance, the dying mountaineer 
writhed upwards, and, collecting his force, 
i fetched a blow with his broad-sword, which cut 



m 



m 



w 



M 



(W 7 



" If thou'rt the lord of this castle, 
I IT^oJ Sae weel it pleases me ! 

\^~s. For, ere 1 cross the border fells, 
% (S\ Tlie tone °f us snau die." 

? =-= j He took a lang spear in his hand, 
f^k-'z-j Shod with the metal free, 

y3p\ And for to meet the Douglas there, 
He rode right furiouslie. 



^24 



gy 






JrS2 



But how pale his lady look'd 

Frae aff the castle wa', 
When down, before the Scottish spear, 

She saw proud Percy fa*. 

'* Had we twa been upon the green, 

And never an eye to see, 
I wad hae had you flesh and fell ; f 

But your sword sail gae wi' me." 

" But gae ye up to Otterbourne, 

And wait there dayis three ; 
And, if I come not ere three dayis end, 

A fause knight ca' ye me." 

through the knight's stirrup-leather and steel- 
boot, and nearly severed his leg. The High- 
lander expired, and Lindsay was with difficulty 
bo ne out of the field by his followers. — Wyn- 
torvn. Lindsay is also noted for a retort, made 
to the famous Hotspur. At a march-meeting, 
at Haldane- Stank, he happened to obsrve, that 
Peicy was sheathed in complete armour. " It 
is for fear of the English horsemen," said Percy, 
in explanation : for he was already meditating 
the insurrection immortalised by Shakespeare. 
"Ah! Sir Harry," answered Lindsay, " I have 
seen you more sorely bestad by Scottish footmen 
than by English horse." — Wyntorvn, Such was 
the leader of the " Lindsays light and gay." 

According to Froissart, there were three Lind- 
says in the battle of Otterbourne, whom he calls 
Sir William, Sir James, and Sir Alexander. 
A "strange chance of war." which befel Sir 
James Lindsay, is recorded in Froissart'* Chroni- 
cle, translated by Bourchier, Lord Berners, vol. i. 
chap. 146. 

The Jardines were a clan of hardy west-bor- 
der men. Their chief was Jardine of Apple- 
girth. Their refusal to ride with Douglas was, 
probably ,the result of one of those perpetual feuds, 
which usually rent to pieces a Scottish army. 

f Fell. — Hide. Douglas insinuates, that Percy | 
was rescued by his soldiers. -« 



" The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn ; 

•Tis pleasant there to be ; 
But there is nought at Otterbourne, 

To feed my men and me. 

" The deer rins wild on hill and dale, 
The birds fly wild from tree to tree ,• 

But there is neither bread nor kale, 
To fend $ my men and me. 

" Yet I will stay at Otterbourne, 

Where you shall welcome be ; 
And, if ye come not at three dayis end, 

A fause lord I'll ca' thee." 

" Thither will I come," proud Percy said, 
" By the might of Our Ladye i " 

" There will I bide thee," said the Douglas, 
" My trowth I plight to thee." 

They lighted high on Otterbourne, 

Upon the bent sae brown ; 
They lighted high on Otterbourne, 

And threw then- pallions down. 

And he that had a bonnie boy, 

Sent out his horse to grass ; § 
And he that had not a bonnie boy, 

His ain servant he was. 

But up then spake a little page, 

Before the peep of dawn — 
" O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord, 

For Percy's hard at hand." 

" Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud ! 

Sae loud I hear ye lie : 
For Percy had no men yestreen, 

To dight my men and me. 

"But I hae dream'd a dreary dream, 

Beyond the Isle of Sky ; 
I saw a dead man win a fight, 
And I think that man was I." 



% Fend.— Support. 

§ Froissart describes a Scottish host, of the 
same period, as consisting of " IIII. M. men of 
armes, knightis, and squires, mounted on good 
horses ; and other X. M. men of warre armed, 
after their gyse, right hardy and firse, mounted 
on lytle hackneys, the whiche were never tied, 
nor kept at hard meat, but lette go to pasture 
in the fieldis and bushes." — Chronykle of Frois- 
sart, translated by Lord Berners, Chap. xvii. 



He belted on his good braid sword, 

And to the field he ran ; 
But he forgot the helmet good, 

That should have kept his brain. 

When Percy wi' the Douglas met, 

I wat he was fu' fain ! 
They swakked their swords, till sair they swat, 

And the blood ran down like rain. 

But Percy with his good broad sword, 

That could so sharply wound, 
Has wounded Douglas on the brow, 

Till he fell to the ground. 

Then he calPd on his little foot-page, 

And said — " Run speedilie, 
And fetch my ain dear sister's son, 

Sir Hugh Montgomery." 

"My nephew good," the Douglas said, 
' ' What recks the death of ane ! 

Last night I dream 'd a dreary dream, 
And 1 ken the day's thy ain. 

" My wound is deep ; I fain would sleep ; 

Take thou the vanguard of the three, 
And hide me by the braken hush, 

That grows on yonder lilye lee. 

" bury me by the braken bush, 

Beneath the blooming briar, 
Let never living mortal ken. 

That ere a kindly Scot lies here.' 

He lifted up that noble lord, 

Wi' the saut tear in his e'e ; 
He hid him in the braken bush, 

That his merrie men might not see. 

The moon was clear, the day drew near, 

The spears in flinders flew, 
But mony a gallant Englishman 

Ere day the Scotsmen slew. 

The Gordons good, in English blood, 
They steep'd their hose and shoon ; 

The Lindsays flew like fire about, 
Till all the fray was done. 

The Percy and Montgomery met, 

That either of other were fain ; 
They swakked swords, and they twa swat, 

And aye the blude ran down between. 




' Yield thee, yield thee, Percy ! " he said, 

" Or else I vow I'll lay thee low ! " 
"Whom to shall I yield," said Earl Percy, 

" Now that I see it must be so ? " 

" Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, 

Nor yet shalt thou yield to me ; 
But yield thee to the braken bush, f 

That grows upon yon lilye lee ! " 

" I will not yield to a braken bush, 

Nor yet will I yield to a briar ; 
But 1 would yield to Earl Douglas, 

Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here.' 

As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, 
He stuck his sword's point in the gronde ; 

And the Montgomery was a courteous knight, 
And quickly took him by the honde. 

This deed was done at Otterbourne, 

About the breaking of the day ; 
Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush, ( '•^^J 

And the Percy led captive away. 



[From Scott's Minstrelsy. — "This ballad, "says 
Sir Walter, " appears to have been composed 
about the reign of James "V. It commemorates 
a transaction, supposed to have taken place be- 
twixt a Scottish monarch, and an ancestor of 
the ancient family of Murray of Philiphaugh, in 
Selkirkshire. The editor is unable to ascertain 
the historical foundation of the tale ; nor is it 
probable that any light can be thrown upon the 
subject, without an accurate examination of the 
family charter chest. It is certain, that, during 
the civil wars betwixt Bruce and Baliol, the 
family of Philiphaugh existed, and was power- 
ful , for their ancestor, Archibald de Moravia, 
subscribes the oath of fealty to Edward I. a. d. 
1296. It is, therefore, not unlikely, that, resid- 
ing in a wild and frontier country, they may 
have, at one period or other, during these com- 
motions, refused allegiance to the feeble mon- 
arch of the day, and thus extorted from him 
some grant of territory or jurisdiction. It is 
also certain, that, by a charter fr. m James IV., 




r^) 



G® 



dated November 30, 1509, John Murray of Phi- 
liphaugh is vested with the dignity of heritable 
sheriff of Ettrick Forest, an office held by his 
descendants till the final abolition of such juris- 
dictions by 28th George II., cap. 23. But it 
seems difficult to believe, that the circumstances 
mentioned in the ballad could occur under the 
reign of so vigorous a monarch as James IV. 
It is true, that the Dramatis Personce introduced 
seem to refer to the end of the fifteenth, or be- 
ginning of the sixteenth century ; but from this 
it can only be argued, that the author himself 
lived soon after that period. It may, therefore, 
be supposed (unless farther evidence can be pro- 
duced, tending to invalidate the conclusion,) 
that the bard, willing to pay his court to the 
family, has connected the grant of the sheriff- 
ship by James IV., with some further dispute 
betwixt the Murrays of Philiphaugh and their 
sovereign, occurring, either while they were 
engaged upon the side of Baliol, or in the subse- 
quent reigns of David II. and Robert II. and 
III., when the English possessed great part of 
the {Scottish frontier, and the rest was in so law- 
less a state as hardly to acknowledge any supe- 
rior. At the same time, this reasoning is not 
absolutely conclusive. James IV. had particu- 
lar reasons for desiring that Ettrick Forest, 
which actually formed part of the jointure lands 
of Margaret, his queen, should be kept in a state 
of tranquillity.— Rymer, vol. XIII. p. 66. In 
order to accomplish this object, it was natural 
for him, according to the policy of his predeces- 
sors, to invest one great family with the power 
of keeping order among the rest. It is even pro- 
bable, that the Philiphaugh family may have 
had claims upon part of the lordship of Ettrick 
Forest, which lay intermingled with their own 
extensive possessions; and, in the course of 
arranging, not indeed the feudal superiority, but | 
the property, of these lands, a dispute may have 
arisen, of sufficient importance to be the ground- 
work of a ballad.— It is farther probable, that 
the Murrays, like other border clans, were in a 
very lawless state, and held their lands merely 
by occupancy, without any feudal right. In- 
deed, the lands of the various proprietors in Et- 
trick Forest (being a royal demesne) were held 
by the possessors, not in property, but as the 
kindly tenants, or rentallers, of the crown ; and 
it is only about 150 years since they obtained 
charters, striking the feu-duty of each proprietor, 
at the rate of the quit-rent which he formerly 
paid. The state of possession naturally led to a ^ 



confusion of rights and claims. The kings of 
Scotland were often reduced to the humiliating 
necessity of compromising such matters with 
their rebellious subjects, and James himself even 
entered into a sort of league with Johnie Faa, 
the king of the gypsies.— Perhaps, therefore, the 
tradition handed down in this song, may have 
had more foundation than it would at present be 
proper positively to assert. 

The merit of this beautiful old tale, it is 
thought, will be fully acknowledged. It has 
been, for ages, a popular song in Selkirkshire. 
The scene is, by the common people, supposed 
to have been the castle of Newark upon Yarrow. 
This is highly improbable, because Newark was 
always a royal fortress. Indeed, the late excel- 
lent antiquarian, Mr Plummer, sheriff depute of 
Selkirkshire, has assured the editor, that he re- 
membered the insignia of the unicorns, &c, so 
often mentioned in the ballad, in existence upon 
the old tower at Hangingshaw, the seat of the 
Philiphaugh family; although, upon first perus- 
ing a copy of the ballad, he was inclined to sub- 
scribe to the popular opinion. The tower of 
Hangingshaw has been demolished for many 
years. It stood in a romantic and solitary situa- 
tion, on the classical banks of the Yarrow. 
When the mountains around Hangingshaw 
were covered with the wild copse which consti- 
tuted a Scottish forest, a more secure strong- 
hold fur an outlawed baron can hardly be ima- 
gined. 

The tradition of Ettrick Forest bears, that the | 
Outlaw was a man of prodigious strength, pos- j 
sessing a batton or club, with which he laid lee 
(i. e. waste) the country for many miles rouud; 
and that he was at length slain by Buccleuch, or 
some of his clan, at a little mount, covered with 
fir-trees, adjoining to Newark cattle, and said to 
have been a part of the garden. A varying tra- 
dition bears the place of his death to have been 
near to the house of the duke of Buccleuch's 
game-keeper, beneath the castle; and that the 
fatal arrow was shot by Scott of Haining, from 
the ruins of a cottage on the opposite side of the 
Yarrow. There were extant, within these 
twenty years, some verses of a song on his death. ' 
The feud betwixt the Outlaw and the Scotts may 
serve to explain the asperity with which the 
chieftain of that clan is handled in the ballad. 

In publishing the following ballad, the copy 
principally resorted to is one, apparently of con- 
siderable antiquity, which was found among the 
papers of the late Mrs Coekbura of Edinburgh, 



%23 

x a lady whose memory will be long honoured by 
F >v all who knew her. Another copy, much more 
-i- imperfect, is to be found in Glenriddel's MSS. 
/o(§T\ The names are in this last miserably mangled, as 
^ is always the case when ballads are taken down 
'-iWt' from the recitation of persons living at a dis- 
rjj!^***, tance from the scenes in which they are laid. 
jC£/K Mr Plummer also gave the editor a few addi- 
L^C^I tional verses, not contained in either copy, which 
5 are thrown into what seemed their proper place. 
Lj=pT\ There is yet another copy, in Mr Herd's MSS., 
t ,.-. . which has been occasionally made use of. Two 
(Js5— ^ verses are restored in the present edition, from 
= SO tne recitation of Mr Mungo Park, whoie toils, 
5=r> during his patient and intrepid travels in Af- 
1|F\] rica, have not eradicated from his recollection 
? the legendary lore of his native country. 
^Jj?\ The arms of the Philiphaugh family are said 
C/Vj by tradition to allude to their outlawed state. 
-- They are indeed those of a huntsman, and are 
f"= r blazoned thus : Argent, a hunting horn sable, 
: J stringed and garnished gules, on a chief azure, 
three stars of the first. Crest, a Demi Forester, 
winding his horn, proper. Mctto, Hinc usque 
superna venabor.] 
Ettkicke Foreste is a feir foreste, 
In it grows manie a semelie trie ; 
There's hart and hynd, and dae and rae, 
And of a' wilde beastes grete plentie. 

There's a feir castelle, bigged wi' lyme and stane ; 

! gin it stands not pleasauntlie ! 
In the forefront o' that castelle feir, 

Twa unicorns are bra' to see; 
There's the picture of a knight, and a ladye bright, 

And the grene hollin abune their brief 

There an Outlaw keepis five hundred men ; 

He keepis a royalle companie ! 
His merryemen are a' in ae liverye clad, 

O' the Linkome grene saye gaye to see ; 
He and his ladye in purple clad, 

! gin they lived not royaUie ! 

Word is gane to our nobil king, 
In Edinburgh, where that he lay, 

That there was an Outlaw in Ettricke Foreste, 
Counted him nought, nor a' his courtrie gay. 

'I make a vowe," then the gude king said, 

"Unto the man that deir bought me, 
I'se either be king of Ettricke Foreste, 

Or king of Scotlonde that Outlaw sail be ! " 



f Brow. 









Then spak the lord, hight Hamilton,^ 
And to the nobil king said he, 

" My sovereign prince, sum counsell take, 
First at your nobilis, syne at me. 

" I redd ye, send yon braw Outlaw till, 
And see gif your man cum will he : 

Desyre him cum and be your man, 
And hald of you yon Foreste frie. 

"Gif he refuse to do that, 

We'll conquess baith his landis and he I 
Or else, we'll throw his casteil down, 

And make a widowe o' his gay ladye." 



The king then call'd a gentleman, [was he) § - -fgS 
James Boyde, (the earl of Arran his brother V W~) 

When James he cam before the king, 
He kneiit befor him on his kne. 

" Wellcum, James Boyd I " said our nobil king; 

" A message ye maun gang for me ; 
Ye maun hye to Ettricke Foreste, 

To yon Outlaw, where bydeth he ; 

"Ask him of whom he haldis his landis, 

Or man, wha may his master be, 
And desyre him cum, and be my man, 

And hald of me yon Foreste frie. 

" To Edinburgh to cum and gang, 

His safe warrant I sail gie; 
And gif he refuses to do that, 

We'll conquess baith his landis and he. 



" Thou may'st vow I'll cast his casteil down, 
And mak a widowe o' his gay ladye ; 

I'll hang his merryemen, payr by payr, 
In ony frith where I may them see." 



% This is, in most copies, the earl hight Hamil- 
ton, which must be a mistake of the reciters, as 
the family did not enjoy that title till 1503. 

§ Thomas Boyd, earl of Arran, was forfeited, 
with his father and uncle, in 1469, for an attempt 
on the person of James III. He had a son, 
James, who was restored, and in favour with 
James IY. about 1482. If this be the person 
here meant, we should read, "The Earl of Ar- 
ran his son was he." Glenriddel's copy reads, 
"a highland laird I'm sure was he." Reciters 
sometimes call the messenger the laird of Skene. 



«gjg|£ 







James Boyd tuik his leave o* the nobil king, 
To Ettricke Foreste feir cam he ; 

Down Birkendale Brae when that he camf 
He saw the feir Foreste wi' his e'e. 

Baith dae and rae, and hart and hinde, 
And of a' wilde beastis great plentie ; 

He heard the bows that bauldly ring, 
And arrows whidderan' hym near bi. 

Of that feir eastell he got a sight ; 

The like he neir saw wi' his e'e ! 
On the fore front o' that eastell feir, 

Twa unicorns were gaye to see ; 
The picture of a knight, and lady bright, 

And the grene hollin abune their brie. 

Thereat he spyed five hundred men, 
Shuting with bows on Newark Lee ; 

They were a' in ae livery clad, 
0' the Lincome grene sae gaye to see. 

His men were a' clad in the grene, 
The knight was armed capapie, 

With a bended bow, on a milk-white steed ; 
And I wot they ranked right bonnilie. 

Therby Boyd kend he was master man, 
And serv'd him in his ain d?gre. 

" God mot thee save, braw Outlaw Murray ! 
Thy ladye, and all thy chyvalrie ! " 

" Marry, thou's wellcum, gentleman, 
Some king's messenger thou seemis to be." 

" The king of Scotlonde sent me here, 
And, gude Outlaw, I am sent to thee ; 

I wad wot of whom ye hald your landis, 
Or man, wha may thy master be ? " 



" Thir landis are mine ! " the Outlaw said ; 
s7 " I ken nae king in Christentie ; 
f| Frae Soudron £ I this Foreste wan, 

Whan the king nor his knightis were not to si 



f Birkendale Brae, now commonly called Bir- 
kendailly, is a steep descent on the south side of 
Minch-moor, which separates Tweeddale from 
Ettrick Forest; and from the top of which you 
have the first view of the woods of Hanging- 
shaw, the castle of Newark, and the romantic 
dale of Yarrow. 

\ Southern, or English, 



4^ " He desyres you'l cum to Edinburgh, 
And hauld of him this Foreste frie; 
And, gif ye refuse to do this, 

He'll conquess baith thy landis and thee. 
He hath vow'd to cast thy eastell down, 
And mak a widowe o' thy gaye ladye ; 

"He'll hang thy merryemen, payr by payr, 
In ony frith where he may them finde." 

" Aye, by my troth ! " the Outlaw said, 
" Than wald I thinke me far behinde. 

" Ere the king my feir countrie get, 

This land that's nativest to me ! 
Mony o' his nobliis sail be cauld, 

Their ladyes sail be right wearie." 

Then spak his ladye, feir of face, 
She seyd, " Without consent of me, 

That an Outlaw suld cum befor a king ; 
I am right rad § of treasonrie. 

Bid him i e gude to his lordis at hame, 
For Edinburgh my lord sail nevir see." 

James Boyd tuik his leave o' the Outlaw kene, 

To Edinburgh boun is he ; 
When James he cam before the king, 

He knelit lowlie on his kne. 

'* Welcum, James Boyd ! " seyd our nobil king ; 

" What Foreste is Ettricke Foreste frie ? " 
" Ettricke Foreste is the feirest foreste 

That evir man saw wi' his e'e. 

" There's the dae, the rae, the hart, the hynde, 
And of a' wild beastis grete plentie; 

There's a pretty eastell of lyme and stane, 
O gif it standis not pleasauntlie ! 

" There's in the forefront o' that eastell, 

Twa unicorns, sae bra' to see ; 
There's the picture of a knight, and a ladye bright, 

Wi' the grene hollin abune their brie. 

" There the Outlaw keepis five hundred men, 

He keepis a royalle cumpanie ! 
His merrymen in ae livery clad, 

O' the Linkome grene sae gaye to see : 
He and his ladye in purple clad ; 

O ! gin they live not royallie ! 

§ Afraid. 



«* 



IT " He says, yon Foreste is his awin ; 
l F^aj ^ e WRn i fc ^ rae tne Southronie ; 
■ if ^ Sae as he wan it, sae will he keep it, 
Contrair all kingis in Christentie." 

" G-ar warn me Perthshire, and Angus baith; 
Fife up and downe, and Louthians three, 
\<lfA And graith my horse ! " said our nobil king, 
| " For to Ettricke Foreste bie will I me." 

Then word is gane the Outlaw till, 
In Ettricke Foreste, where dwelleth he, 

That the king was cuming to his countrie, 
To conquess baith his landis and he. 

= jj " I mak a vow," the Outlaw said, 
" I mak a vow, and that trulie, 
* Were there but three men to tak my pairt, 
.SzA Yon king's cuming full deir suld be ! " 

Then messengers he called forth, 
And bade them hie them speedilye — 
•^^V^ " Ane of ye gae to Halliday, 
Y~V The laird of the Corebead \ is he. 

ft " He certain is my sister's son ; 

Bid him cum quick and succour me ! 
•J The king cums on for Ettricke Foreste, 

And landless men we a' will be. ; ' 

Si " What news ? What news ? " said Halliday, 
" Man, frae thy master unto me ? " 

p|y " Not as ye wad ; seeking your aide; 
The king's his mortal enemie." 

^^\ " Aye, by my troth ! " said Halliday, 
"Even for that it repenteth me ; 
y For gif he lose fcir Ettricke Foreste, 
He'll tak feir MofEatdale frae me. 

> " I'll meet him wi' five hundred men, 

i j^-y And surely mair, if mae may be ; 

■f^"? And before he gets the Foreste feir, 

L -=| We a' will die on Newark Lee! " 

The Outlaw call'd a messenger, 

And bid him hie him speedilye, 
To Andrew Murray of Cockpool — % 
» (pj " That man's a deir cousin to me ; 



Desyre him cum, and mak me ayd, 
With a' the power that he may be." 

"It stands me hard," Andrew Murray said, 
" Judge gif it stand na hard wi' me ; 

To enter against a king wi' crown, 
And set my landis in jeopardie ! 

Yet, if I cum not on the day, 
Surely at night he sail me see." 

To Sir James Murray of Traquair,§ 

A message cam right speedilye — 
" What news? What news?" James Murray said, 

" Man, frae thy master unto me ? " 

" What neids I tell ? for weell ye ken, 

The king's his mortal enemie ; 
And now he is coming to Ettricke Foreste, 

And landless men ye a' will be." 

"And, by my trothe," James Murray said, 
" Wi' that Outlaw will I live and die ; 

The king has gifted my landis lane: syne — 
It cannot be nae warse wi' me." 



f This is a place at the head of Moffat-water, 
possessed of old by the family of Halliday. 

% This family were ancestors of the Murrays. 
earls of Annandale ; but the name of the rtpr.- • 



sentative, in the time of James 1 Y. was William, 
i not Andrew. Glenriddel's MS. reads, " the 
country-keeper." 

§ Before the barony of Traquair became the 
property of the Stewarts, it belonged to a family 
of Murrays, afterwards Murrays of Biack-barony, 
and ancestors of lord Elibank. The old castle _ 
was situated on the Tweed. The lands of Tra- f c 
quair were forfeited by Willielmus de Moravia, ^T\ 
previous to 1464; for, in that year, a charter, [$=") 
proceeding upon hi3 forfeiture, was granted by 
the crown " Willielmo Douglas de Cluny." Sir 
James was, perhaps, the heir of William Mur- ' C; =-. 
ray. It would farther seem, that the grant in V 
1-164 was not made effectual by Douglas ; for, 
another charter from the crown, dated the 3d 
February, 1478, conveys the estate of Traquair 
to James Stewart, earl of Buchan, son to the T 
black knight of Lome, and maternal uncle to 
James III., from whom is descended the present 
earl of Traquair. The first royal grant not 
being followed by possession, it is very possible 
that the Murrays may have continued to occupy 
Traquair long after the date of that charter. 
Hence, S!r James might have reason to say, as in 
the ballad, "The king has gifted my lands lang .2. 
' syne." 



C5t 






9 



2§D 



Fat 



The king was cumin g through Caddon Ford,* 
And full five thousand men was he ; 

They saw the derke foreste them before, 
They thought it awsome for to sae. 

Then spak' the lord, hight Hamilton, 

And to the nobil king said he, 
" My sovereign liege, sum council tak', 

First at your nobilis, syne at me. 

" Desyre him mete thee at Permanscore, 
And bring four in his cumpanie ; 

Five erles sail gang yoursel' befor, 

Glide cause that you suld honour'd be. 

" And, gif he refuses to do that, 

We'll conquess baith his landis and hej 

There sail nevir a Murray, after him, 
Hald land in Ettricke Foreste frie." 

Then spak' the kene laird of Buckscleuth, 
A stalworthye man, and sterne was he — 

" For a king to gang an outlaw till, 
Is beneath his state and his dignitie. 

" The man that wons yon foreste intill, 

He lives by reif and felonie ! 
Wherfore, brayd on, my sovereign liege! 

Wi' fire and sword we'll follow thee ; 
Or, gif your courtrie lords fa' back, 

Our borderers sail the onset gi'e." 

Then out and spak' the nobil king, 
And round him cast a wilie e'e — 

"Now had thy tongue, Sir Walter Scott, 
Nor speik of reif nor felonie : 

For, had everye honeste man his awin kye, 
A right pure clan thy name wad be!" 

The king then call'd a gentleman, 
Royal banner-bearer there was he ; 

James Hop Pringle of Torsonse, by name; f 
He cam' and knelit upon his knee. 



* A ford on the Tweed, at the mouth of the 
Caddon Burn, near Yair. — Scott. 

f The honourable name of Pringle, or Hop- 
pringle, is of great antiquity in Roxburghshire 
J and Selkirkshire. The old tower of Torsonse is 
Vwo/) situated upon the banks of the Gala. I believe 
o s )t~' a , the Pringles of Torsonse are now represented by 
//^Y Sir John Pringle of Stitchell. There are three 
( =^_ j ether ancient and distinguished families of this 
\ - :.' name ; those of Whitebank, Clifton, and Tor- 



C 



Wellcum, James Pringle of Torsonse ! 
A message ye maun gang for me ; 
Ye maun gae to yon Outlaw Murray, 
Surely where bauldly bideth he. 

" Bid him mete me at Permanscore, 
And bring four in his cumpanie ; 

Five erles sail cum wi' mysel', 
Gude reason I suld honour'd be. 

" And, gif he refuses to do that, 
Bid him luke for nae good o' me ! 

There sail nevir a Murray, after him, 
Have land in Ettricke Foreste frie." 

James cam' before the Outlaw kene, 
And serv'd him in his ain degree — 

" Welcum, James Pringle of Torsonse ! 
What message frae the king to me?" 

" He bids ye mete him at Permanscore,^ 
And bring four in your cumpanie ; 

Five erles sail gang himsel' befor, 
Nae mair in number will he be. 

"And, gif you refuse to do that, 

(I freely here upgive wi' thee) 
He'll cast yon bonnie castle down, 

And make a widowe o' that gay layde. 

" He'll loose yon bluidhound borderers, 
Wi' fire and sword to follow thee ; 

There will nevir a Murray, after thyseP, 
Have land in Ettricke Foreste frie." 

" It stands me hard," the Outlaw said ; 

" Judge gif it stands na hard wi' me ; 
Wha reck not losing of mysel', 

But a' my offspring after me. 

" My merryemen's lives, my widowe's teirs — 
There lies the pang that pinches me ; 

When I am straught in bluidie eard, 
Yon castell will be right dreirie. 

" Auld Halliday, young Halliday, 

Ye sail be twa to gang wi' me ; 
Andrew Murray, and Sir James Murray, 

We'll be nae mae in cumpanie." 

% Permanscore is a very remarkable hollow on 
the top of a high ridge of hills, dividing the vales 
of Tweed and Yarrow, a little to the eastward of 
Minch-moor. It is the outermost point of the 
lands of Broadmeadows.— Scott. 




When that they cam' before the king, 
They fell befor him on their knee — 

" Grant mercie, mercie, nobil king ! 
E'en for his sake that dyed on trie." 

" Sicken like mercie sail ye have ; 

On gallows ye sail hangit be !" 
" Over God's forbode," quo' the Outlaw then, 

" I hope your grace will bettir be ! > 

Else, ere you come to Edinburgh port, 

I trow thin guarded sail ye be : 

" Thir landis of Ettricke Foreste feir, 

I wan them from the enemie ; 
Like as I wan them, sae will I keep them, 

Contrair a' kingis in Christentie." 

All the nobilis the king about, 

Said pitie it were to see him dee — 

<( Yet graunt me mercie, sovereign prince ! 
Extend your favour unto me ! 

" I'll give thee the keys of my castell, 
Wi' the blessing o' my gaye ladye, 

Gin thou'lt make me sberiffe of this foreste, 
And a' my offspring after me." 

" Wiltjjfchou give me the keys of thy castell, 
Wi' the blessing of thy gaye ladye ? 

I'se make thee sheriffe of Ettricke Foreste, 
Surely while upward grows the trie ; 

If you be not traitour to the king, 
Forfaulted sail thou nevir be." 

" But, prince, what sail cum o' my men ? 

When I gae back, traitour they'll ca' me ; 
I had rather lose my life and land, 

Ere my merryemen rebuked me." 

" Will your merryemen amend their lives ? 

And a' their pardons I grant thee — 
Now, name thy landis where'er they lie, 

And here I render them to thee." 

" Fair Philiphaugh* is mine by right, 
And Lewinshope still mine shall be ; 

Newark, Foulshiells, and Tinnies baith, 
My bow and arrow purchased me. 



* In this and the following verse, the cere- 
mony of feudal investiture is supposed to be gone 
through, by tne outlaw resigning his possessions 
into the hands of the king, and receiving them 



" And I have native steads to me, 
The Newark Lee and Hangingshaw ; 

I have mony steads in the foreste shaw, 
But them by name I dinna knaw." 

The keys o' the castell he gave the king, 

Wi' the blessing o'.his feir ladye ; 
He was made sheriffe of Ettricke Foreste, 

Surely while upward grows the trie ; 
And if he was na traitour to the king, 

Forfaulted he suld nevir be. 

Wha ever heard, in ony times, 

Sicken an outlaw in his degree, 
Sic favour get befor a king, 

As did the outlaw Murray of the foreste frie ? / 



back to be held of him as superior. The lands of \\k Buccleuch. — Scott. 



["The Armstrongs appear to have been at an 
early period in possession of great part of Lid- 
desdale, and of the Debateable Land. Their 
immediate neighbourhood to England rendered ' 
them the most lawless of the border depreda- 
tors ; and, as much of the country possessed by \ 
them was claimed by both kingdoms, the inhabi- 
tants, protected from justice by the one nation, \ 
in opposition to the other, securely preyed upon 
both. The chief was Armstrong of Mangertoun ; 
but, at a later period, they are declared a / 
broken clan, i. e. one which had no lawful head, ' 
to become surety for their good behaviour. The 
rapacity of this clan, and of their allies, the J 
Elliots, occasioned the popular saying, * Elliots f 
and Armstrongs ride thieves all.' But to what 
border family of note, in former days, would not j 
such an adage have been equally applicable ? 1 
All along the river Liddel may still be discovered 
the ruins of towers, possessed by this numerous 
clan. They did not, however, entirely trust to 
these fastnesses ; but, when attacked by a supe- 
rior force, abandoned entirely their dwellings, 

and retired into morasses, accessible by paths ifl 
known to themselves alone. One of their most \/4-J 
noted places of refuge was the Tarras Moss, a )~=Z\ 
desolate and horrible marsh, through which a f 
small river takes its course. Upon its banks \M 

Philiphaugh are still possessed by the outlaw's 6 ';'- 
representative. Hangingshaw and Lewinshope 
were sold of late years. Newark, Foulshiels, yj 
and Tinnies, have long belonged to the family of 





m 



<SS 



M 






are found some dry spots, which were occupied 
by these outlaws, and their families, in cases of 
emergency. The stream runs furiously among 
huge rocks, which has occasioned a popular 
saying — 

Was ne'er ane drown'd in Tarras, nor yet in 
doubt, 

For e'er the head can win down, the harns 
(brains) are out. 
The morass itself is so deep, that, according to 
an old historian, two spears tied together would 
not reach the bottom. 

" Johnnie Armstrong, of G-ilnockie, the hero 
of the following ballad, is a noted personage, 
both in history and tradition. He was, it would 
seem from the ballad, a brother of the laird of 
Mangertoun, chief of the name. His place of 
residence (now a roofless tower) was at the Hal- 
lows, a few miles from Langholm, where its 
ruins still serve to adorn a scene, which, in na- 
tui'al beauty, has few equals in Scotland. At 
the head of a desperate band of free-booters, 
this Armstrong is said to have spread the terror 
of his name almost as far as Newcastle, and to 
have levied black mail, or protection and forbear- 
ance money, for many miles round. James "V., 
of whom it was long remembered by his grateful 
people that he made the c i*ush-bush keep the 
cow,' about 1529, undertook an expedition 
through the border counties, to suppress the 
turbulent spirit of the marchmen. But, before 
setting out upon his journey, he took the pre- 
caution of imprisoning the different border 
chieftains, who were the chief protectors of the 
marauders. The earl of Bothwell was forfeited, 
and confined in Edinburgh castle. The lords 
of Home and Maxwell, the lairds of Buccleuch, 
Fairniherst, and Johnston, with many others, 
were also committed to ward. Cockburn of 
Henderland, and Adam Scott of Tushielaw, 
called the King of the Border, were publicly exe- 
cuted. — Lesley, p. 430. The king then march- 
ed rapidly forward, at the head of a flying army 
of ten thousand men, through Ettrick forest 
and Ewsdale. The evil genius of our Johnnie 
Armstrong, or, as others say, the private advice 
of some courtiers, prompted him to present 
himself before James, at the head of thirty-six 
horse, arrayed in all the pomp of border chivalry. 
Pitscottie uses nearly the words of the ballad in 
describing the splendour of his equipment, and 
his high expectations of favour from the king. 
' But James, looking upon him sternly, said to 



his attendants, What wants that knave that a 
king should have ? and ordered him and his fol- 
lowers to instant execution.' — ' But John Arm- 
strong, 1 continues this minute historian, * made 
great offers to the king. That he should sustain 
himself, with forty gentlemen, ever ready at his 
service, on their own cost, without wronging 
any Scotchman : Secondly, that there was not a 
subject in England, duke, earl, or baron, but, 
within a certain day, he should bring him to his 
majesty, either quick or dead. At length he, 
seeing no hope of favour, said very proudly, " It 
is folly to seek grace at a graceless face: but," 
said he, " had I known this, I should have lived 
upon the border in despite of king Harry and you 
both ; for I know king Harry would donm-rveigh 
my best horse with gold, to know that I were con- 
demned to die this day." '— Pitscottie' s History, 
p. 145. Johnnie, with all his retinue, was accord- 
ingly hanged upon growing trees, at a place 
called Carle nrig chapel, above ten miles above 
Hawick, on the high road to Langholm. The 
country people believe, that, to manifest the in- 
justice of the execution, the trees withered away. 
Armstrong and his followers were buried in a 
deserted church-yard, where their graves are still 
shown. As this border hero was a person of 
great note in his way, he is frequently a^uded to 
by the writers of the time. Sir David Lindsay 
of the Mount, in the curious play published by 
Mr Pinkerton, from the Bannatyne MS., intro- 
duces a pardoner, or knavish dealer in reliques, 
who produces, among his holy rarities — 

' The cordis, baith grit and lang, 

Quhilt hangit Johnie Armistrang, 

Of gude hemp, soft and sound. 
G-ude haly pepill, I stand ford, 
Wha'evir beis hangit in this cord, 

Neidis never to be drowned!' 
Pinkerton's Scottish Poems, vol. II. p. 69. 
In The Complaynt of Scotland, John Armi- 
strangis' dance, mentioned as a popular tune, 
has probably some reference to our hero. The 
common people of the high parts of Tiviotilale, 
Liddesdale, and the country adjacent, hold the 
memory of Johnnie Armstrong in very high re- 
spect. They affirm also, that one of his atten- 
dants broke through the king's guard, and car- 
ried to Gilnockie Tower the news of the bloody 
catastrophe. 

" This song was first published by Allan Ram- 
say, in his Evergreen, who says, he copied it from 
^the mouth of a gentleman, called Armstrong, 



vs. 



hM 



who was in the sixth generation from this John. 
The reciter assured him, that this was the 
genuine old ballad, the common one false.'' — 

Scott's Minstrelsy.] 

Some speikis of lords, some speikis of lairds, 
And sick lyke men of hie degrie ; 

Of a gentleman I sing a sang, 

Sum tyme called laird of Gilnockie. 

The king he wrytes a luving letter, 

With his ain hand sae tenderly, 
And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang, 

To cum and speik with him speedily. 

The Eliots and Armstrangs did convene; 

They were a gallant curopanie — 
" "We'll ride and meit our lawful king, 

And bring him safe to Gilnockie." 

" Make kinnen and capon ready then, 

And venison in great plentie ; 
We'll welcum here our royal king ; 

1 hope he'll dine at Gilnockie !" 

They ran their horse on the Langholme howm, 
And brak their spears wi' muckle main ; 

The ladies lukit frae their loft windows — 
" God bring our men weel back agen !" 

When Johnnie cam' before the king, 

Wi' a' his men sae brave to see, 
The king he rnovit his bonnet to him ; 

He ween'd he was a king as well as he. 

" May I find grace, my sovereign liege, 
Grace for my loyal men and me ? 

For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang, 
And subject of your's, my liege," said he. 

" Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! 

Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be ! 
I grantit nevir a traitor's life, 

And now I'll not begin with thee." 

" Grant me my life, my liege, my king i 
And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee — 

Full four-and-twenty milk-white steids, 
Were a' foaled in ae year to me. 

" I'll gi'e thee a' these milk-white steids, 
That prance apd nicker at a speir ; 

And as mickle gude Inglish gilt, 

As four o' their braid backs dow bear." 



" Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! 

Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be ! 
I grantit nevir a traitor's life, 

And now I'll not begin wi' thee !" 

'' Grant me my life, my liege, my king '. 

And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee — 
Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills, 

That gang through a' the yeir to me. 

" These four-and-twenty mills complete, 
Sail gang for thee through a' the yeir ; 

And as mickle of gude reid wheit, 
As a' their happers dow to bear." 

" Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! 

Out o' my sight soon may : st thou be J 
I grantit nevir a traitor's life, 

And now I'll not begin wi' thee." 

" Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! 

And a great gift I'll gi'e to thee — 
Bauld four-and-twenty sister's sons, 

Sail for thee fecht, though a' should flee !" 

" Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! 

Oat o' my sight soon may'st thou be! 
I grantit nevir a traitor's life, 

And now I'll not begin wi' thee." 

' ' Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! 

And a brave gift I'll gi'e to thee — 
All between heir and Newcastle town 

Sail pay their yeirly rent to thee." 

"Away, away, thou traitor Strang! 

Out o' my sight soon may'st thou be ! 
I grantit nevir a traitor's life, 

And now I'll not begin with thee." 

" Ye lied, ye lied, now, king," he says, 
" Although a king and prince ye be ! 

For I've luved naething in my life, 
I weel dare say, but honesty — 

" Save a fat horse, and a fair woman, 

Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deir ; 
But England suld have found me meal and 

Gif I had lived this hundred yeir ! [mault, «T_" 



" Sche suld have found me meal and mault, 
And beef and mutton in a plentie ; 

But nevir a Scots wyfe could have said, 
That e'er I skaithed her a pure flee. 





£% 



" To seik het water beneith cauld ice, 

Surely it is a greit folie — 
I have asked grace at a graceless face, 

But there is nane for my men and me ! 

" But had I kenn'd ere I cam' frae hame, 
How thou unkind wadst been to me ! 

I wad have keepit the border side, 
In spite of all thy force and thee. 

" Wist England's king that I was ta'en, 
O gin a blythe man he wad be ! 

For anes I slew his sister's son, 

And on his breist bane brak a trie." 

John wore a girdle about his middle, 
Imbroidered ower wi* burning gold, 

Bespangled wi' the same metal ; 
Maist beautiful was to behold — 



~||p- There hang nine targets at Johnnie's hat, 

And ilk ane worth three hundred pound — 

"' What wants that knave that a king suld have, 

But the sword of honour and the crown ! 

f O whar got thou these targets, Johnnie, 
That blink sae brawly abune thy brie?" 

'* I gat them in the field fechting, 

Where, cruel king, thou durst not be. 



&©s 



" Had I my horse, and harness gude, 

And riding as I wont to be, 
It suld have been tauld this hundred yeir, 

The meeting of my king and me ! 



/*3^\ " ^ 0( * ^ e w it ft thee, Kirsty, my brother ! 
yJP-g \ Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun ! 

W ^ . / Lang may'st thou live on the border syde, 
\s-3s Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down ! 

r7~§\ <c And God be with thee, Kirsty, my son, 
lLj. ) Where thou sits on thy nurse's knee ! 

rp§? , But and thou live this hundred yeir, 
g»a Thy father's better thou'lt nevir be. 

( A- X " Farewell ! my bonnie Gilnock hall, 

Where on Esk side thou standest stout ! 

1=L1=LJ Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair, 
\ B rp/ = ') I w ad ha'e gilt thee round about." 

fry§\ John murdered was at Carlinrigg, 
/ fer"/ And all his gallant companie ; 

\ -=g -? But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae, 
To see sae mony brave men dee — 



Because they saved their country deir 
Frae Englishmen ! Nane were sae bauld 

While Johnie lived on the border syde, 
Nane of them durst cum neir his hauld. 



JOHNNIE ARMSTRONG'S LAST GOOD- 
NIGHT. 

[This is what Ramsay calls the " common" 
ballad of Johnnie Armstrong. (See close of in- 
troduction to previous ballad ) Motherwell says 
that he never heard the above set of Johnnie 
Armstrong sung or recited among the common 
people, but that he had often heard the present 
one. In old broadsides, the title of this ballad 
runs thus: "Johnnie Armstrong's last good- 
night , showing how John Armstrong with his 
eight-score men fought a bloody battle with the 
Scotch king at Edenborough." In English col- 
lections, there is another ballad wherein a Sir 
John Armstrong figures as the hero. This latter 
is entitled, " A pleasant Ballad, showing how 
two valiant knights, Sir John Armstrong and 
Sir Michael Musgrave, fell in love with the beau- 
tiful daughter of the Lady Dacres in the North, 
and of the great strife that happened between 
them for her, and how they wrought the death of 
one hundred men. "J 

Is there ever a man in all Scotland, 

From the highest estate to the lowest de- 
gree, 

That can show himself before our king, 
Scotland is so full of treachery ? 

Yes, there is a man in Westmoreland, 

And Johnny Armstrong they do him call, 

He has no lands or rents coming in, 

Yet he keeps eight-score men within his 
hall. 

He has horses and harness for them all, U-& 

And goodly steeds that be milk-white, 

With their goodly belts about their necks, ^^* 

With hats and feathers all alike. 

The king he writes a loving letter, /£>^ 

And with his own hand so tenderly, 
And hath sent it unto Johnny Armstrong, 

To come and speak with him speedily. f J& 




When John he look'd this letter upon, 
He look'd as blythe as a bird in a tree, 

I was never before a king in my life, 

My father, my grandfather, nor none of us 
three. 

But seeing we must go before the king, 

Lord we will go most gallantly, 
Ye shall every one have a velvet coat, 

Laid down with golden laces three. 

And every one shall have a scarlet cloak, 

Laid down with silver laces five, 
With your golden belts about your necks, 

With hats and feathers all alike. 

But when Johnny went from Giltnock-hall, 
The wind it blew hard, and full fast it did 
rain, 

Now fare thee well, thou Giltnock-hall, 
I fear I shall never see thee again. 

Now Johnny he is to Edenborough gone, 
With his eightscore men so gallantly, 

And every one of them on a milk-white steed, 
With their bucklers and swords hanging to 
their knee. 

But when John came the king before, 

With his eightscore men so gallant to see, 

The king he mov'd his bonnet to him, 

He thought he had been a king as well as 
he. 

pardon, pardon, my sovereign liege, 

Pardon for my eightscore men and me ; 
For my name it is Johnny Armstrong, 
And subject of your's, my liege, said he. 

Away with thee, thou false traitor, 

No pardon will I grant to thee, 
But to-morrow morning by eight of the clock, 

I will hang up thy eightscore men and thee. 

Then Johnny look'd over his left shoulder, 
And to his merry men thus said he, 

1 have ask'd grace of a graceless face, 

No pardon there is for you and me. 

Then John pull'd out his good broad sword, 
That was made of the mettle so free, 

Had not the king moved his foot as he did, 
John had taken his head from his fair 
body. 



Come, follow me, my merry men all, 
We will scorn one foot for to flee, 

It shall never be said we were hang'd like dogs, 
We will fight it out most manfully. 

Then they fought on like champions bold, 
For their hearts were sturdy, stout and 
free, 
Till they had kill'd all the king's good guard ; 
There were none left alive but one, two, or 
three. 

But then rose up all Edenborough, 
They rose up by thousands three, 

A cowardly Scot came John behind, 
And run him through the fair body. 

Said John, Fight on, my merry men all, 
I am little wounded but am not slain, 

I will lay me down and bleed a-while, 
Then I'll rise and fight again. 

Then they fought on like mad men all, 
Till many a man lay dead on the plain, 

For they were resolved before they would yield, 
That every man would there be slain. 

So there they fought courageously, 

'Till most of them lay dead there and slain, 
But little Musgrave, that was his foot-page, 

With his bonnie grissel got away unta'en. 

But when he came to Griltnock-hall, 

The lady spied him presently, 
What news, what news, thou little foot-page, 

What news from thy master and his com- 
pany ? 

My news is bad, lady, he said, 

"Which I do bring, as you may see ; 

My master Johnny Armstrong is slain, 
And all his gallant company. 

Yet thou art welcome home, my bonnie grissel, 

Full oft hast thou been fed with corn and 

hay, 

But now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine, 

And thy sides shall be spurr'd no more, I 

say. 

then bespoke his little son, 

As he sat on his nurse's knee, 
If ever I live to be a man, 

My father's death reveng'd shall be. 



360 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






ARMSTRONG'S GOODNIGHT. 

[The following verses are said to have been 
composed by one of the Armstrongs, executed 
for the murder of Sir John Carmichael of Edrom, 
warden of the middle marches. The tune is po- 
pular in Scotland; but whether these are the 
original words, will admit of a doubt. 

Scott's Minstrelsy.] 

This night is my departing night, 
For here nae langer must I stay ; 

There's neither friend nor foe o' mine, 
But wishes me away. 

What I have done through lack of wit, 

I never, never can recall ; 
I hope ye're a' my friends as yet ; 

Goodnight and joy be with you all ! 



[This ballad (which, as Sir Walter Scott re- 
marks, seems to be the most modern in which 
the harp, as a border instrument of music, is 
found to occur) was first published in the Min- 
strelsy of the Scottish Border. — The castle of 
Lochmaben was formerly a noble building, situ- 
ated upon a peninsula, projecting into one of the 
four lakes which are in the neighbourhood of the 
royal burgh, and is said to have been the resi- 
dence of Robert Bruce, while lord of Annandale. 
Accordingly it was alwajs held to be a royal 
fortress, the keeping of which, according to the 
custom of the times, was granted to some power- 
ful lord, with an allotment of lands and fishings, 
for the defence and maintenance of the place. 
There is extant a grant, dated 16th March, 1511, 
to Robert Lauder of the Bass, of the office of 
captain and keeper of Lochmaben castle, for 
seven years, with many perquisites. Among 
others, the " land, stolen frae the king," is be- 
stowed on the captain, as his proper lands. 
What shall we say of a country, where the very 
ground was the subject of theft ? An extraordi- 
nary and anomalous class of landed proprietors 
dwell in the neighbourhood of Lochmaben. 
These are the inhabitants of four small villages, 



»al to be ^§L 

the one r -=| 
it, in the C'-^§] 

kind, it V^Tv> 



near the ancient castle, called the Four Towns /* 
of Lochmaben. They themselves are termed the 
King's Rentallers, or kindly tenants; under 
which denomination each of them has a right, of (^ 
an allodial nature, to a small piece of ground. %_ 
It is said, that these people are the descendants of - 
Robert Bruce's menials, to whom he assigned, in W Jl~\: 
reward of their faithful service, these portions of " : ; ! 
land burdened only with the payment of certain L, 
quit-rents, and grassums, or fines, upon the =%~ 
entry of a new tenant. The right of the rental- /^ 
lers is, in essence, a right of propei ty, but, in ( p J J 
form, only a right of lease; of which they appeal : ?": 
for the foundation to the rent-rolls of the lord of Q?J^\ 
the castle and manor. This possession, by rental, /W- 
or by simple entry upon the rent-roll, was an- 
ciently a common, and peculiarly sacred, species u 
of property, granted by a chief to his faithful fol- / V— -/ 
lowers; the connection of landlord and tenant L"-'\ i 
being esteemed of a nature too formal to be a=L_ 
necessary, where there was honour on the < 
side, and gratitude upon the other. But, i 
case of subjects granting a right of this kind, 
was held to expire with the life of the granter, 
unless his heir chose to renew it ; and also upon 
the death of the rentaller himself, unless espe- 
cially granted to his heirs, by which term only 
his first heir was understood. Hence, in modern 
days, the kindly tenants have entirely disappear- 
ed from the land. Fortunately for the inhabi- 
tants of the Four Towns of Lochmaben, the | 

maxim, that the king can never die, prevents v 

their right of property from reverting to the t_m 
crown. The Viscount of Stormonth, as royal IP- 
keeper of the castle, did, indeed, about the I L ) 
beginning of last century, make an attempt to ; = ; x , 
remove the rentallers from their possessions, or 
at least to procure judgment, finding them ob- y e=~ 
liged to take out feudal investitures, and subject p, c 
themselves to the casualties thereto annexed. ,Vi;\* 
But the rentallers united in their common de- /<^\\ 
fence : and, having stated their immemorial pos- i . 
session, together with some favourable clauses in y§ 
certain old acts of parliament, enacting, that ps 
the king's poor kindly tenants of Lochmaben 
should not be hurt, they finally prevailed in an )~ =^\ 
action before the Court of Session. From the [ ^ 
peculiar state of their right of property, it fol- \£S~i 
lows, that there is no occasion for feudal inves- (V^c^ 
titures, or the formal entry of an heir ; and, of C~aP 
course, when they choose to convey their lands, it Ay^\ 
is done by a simple deed of conveyance, without \ "g 
charter or sasine. 
The kindly tenants of Lochmaben live (or at " 



least till lately) much sequestered from their > 
neighbours, marry among themselves, and are 
distinguished from each other by soubriquets, 
according to the ancient border custom, re- 
peatedly noticed. You meet among their -writ- 
ings, vrith such names as John Out-bye, "Will 
In -bye, White-fish, Red-fish, &c. They are 
tenaciously obstinate in defence of their privile- 
ges of commonty, &c. which are numerous. 
Their lands are, in general, neatly inclosed, and 
■well cultivated, and they form a contented and 
industrious little community. 

Many of these particulars are extracted from 
the MSS. of Mr Syme, writer to the signet. 
Those -who are desirous of more information, 
may consult Craig de Feudis, Lib. II. dig. 
9. sec. 24. It is hoped the reader will excuse 
this digression, though somewhat professional ; 
especially as there can be little doubt that this 
diminutive republic must soon share the fate of 
mightier states ; for, in consequence of the in- 
crease of commerce, lands possessed under this 
singular tenure, being now often brought to sale, 
and purchased by the neighbouring proprietors, 
-will, in process of time, be included in their in- 
vestitures, and the right of rentallage be entirely 
forgotten. — Scott.] 

heard ye na o' the silly blind Harper, 
How lang he lived in Lochmaben town ? 

And how he wad gang to fair England, 

To steal the Lord Warden's "Wanton Brown! 

But first he gaed to his gude wyfe, 

Wi' a' the haste that he could thole — 

" This wark," quo' he, " will ne'er gae weel, 
Without a mare that has a foal." 

Quo' she — " Thou hast a gude gray mare, 
That can baith lance o'er laigh and hie ; 

Sae set thee on the gray mare's back, 
And leave the foal at hame wi' me." 

So he is up to England gane, 

And even as fast as he may drie ; 

And whan he cam' to Carlisle gate, 
O wha was there but the warden, he ? 

" Come into my hall, thou silly blind harper, 
And of thy harping let me hear !" 

" by my sooth," quo' the silly blind harper, 
" 1 wad rather ha'e stabling for my mare." 



The warden look'd ower his left shoulder, 

And said unto his stable groom — 
" Gae take the silly blind harper's mare, 

And tie her beside my Wanton Brown." 

Then aye he harped, and aye he carped, 

Till a' the lordlings footed the floor; 
But an' the music was sae sweet, 

The groom had nae mind o' the stable door. |l. 

And aye he harped, and aye he carped, 

Till a' the nobles were fast asleep ; 
Then quickly he took aff his shoon, 

And saftly down the stair did creep. 

Syne to the stable door he hied, 

"Wi' tread as light as light could be ; 
And when he opened and gaed in, 

There he fand thirty steeds and three. 

He took a cowt-halter frae his hose, 

And o' his purpose he didna fail ; 
He slipt it ower the W r anton's nose, 

And tied it to his gray mare's tail. 

He turned them loose at the castle gate, 

Ower muir and moss and ilka dale ; 
And she ne'er let the Wanton bait, 

But kept him a-galloping hame to her foal. 

The mare she was right swift o' foot, 

She didna fail to find the way ; 
For she was at Lochmaben gate, 

A lang three hours before the day. 

When she cam' to the harper's door, 

There she gave mony a nicker and sneer — l%-% 
" Rise up," quo' the wife, " thou lazy lass j 1 JjP 

Let in thy master and his mare." 

Then up she rose, put on her clothes, 
And keekit through at the lock-hole — 

" ! by my sooth," then cried the lass, 

" Our mare has gotten a braw brown foal !" JiE 

" Come, haud thy tongue, thou silly wench ! 

The morn's but glancing in your e'e." — 
" I'll wad my hail fee against a groat, 

He's bigger than e'er our foal will be." 

Now all this while in merry Carlisle, 

The harper harped to hie and law ; 
And the fiend dought they do but listen him to : 

Until that the day began to daw. 



% 



i 



But on the morn, at fair day-light, < 

When they had ended a' their cheer, 

Behold the Wanton Brown was gane, 
And eke the poor blind Harper's mare ! 

" Allace i allace !" quoth the cunning auld 
Harper, 
And ever allace that I cam' here ; 
In Scotland I lost a braw cowt foal, 

In England they've stown my gude gray 
mare!" 

"Come! cease thy allacing, thou silly blind 
Harper, 

And again of thy harping let us hear ; 
And weel payd sail thy cowt-foal be, 

And thou sail have a far better mare." 

Then aye he harped, and aye he carped ; 

Sae sweet were the harpings he let them 
hear! 
He was paid for the foal he had never lost, 

And three times ower for the gude gray mare. 



fjei«$ ®rffe <rf tjue §m 



[From the Border Minstrelsy. — " There is 
another ballad," says Sir Walter, " under the 
same title as the following, in which nearly tbe 
| same incidents are narrated, with little diffe- 
rence, except that the honour of rescuing the 
cattle is attributed to the Liddesdale Elliots, 
headed by a chief, there called Martin Elliot of 
the Preakin Tower, whose son, Simon, is said to 
have fallen in the action. It is very possible, 
that both the Tiviotdale Scotts, and the Elliots, 
were engaged in the affair, and that each claim- 
ed the honour of the victory."— Sir Walter pre- 
sumes, that the Willie Scott, here mentioned, 
must have been a natural son of the laird of 
Buccleuch.] 

It fell about the Martinmas tyde, 

When our border steeds get corn and hay, 
The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to 



The first ae guide that they met wi*, 
It was high up in Hardhaughswire ;* 

The second guide that we met wi', 

It was laigh down in Borthwick water, f 

" What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?" 
'* Nae tidings, nae tidings, I ha'e to thee ; 

But gin ye'll gae to the fair Dodhead,:): 
Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see." 

And whan they cam' to the fair Dodhead, 
Right hastily they clam the peel ; 

They loosed the kye out, ane and a', 
And ranshackled the house right weel. 

Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair,§ 

The tear aye rowing in his e'e ; 
He pled wi* the captain to ha'e his gear, 

Or else revenged he wad be. 

The captain turned him round and leugh ; 

Said—" Man, there's naething in thy house, 
But ae auld sword without a sheath, 

That hardly now wad fell a mouse !" 

The sun wasna up, but the moon was down, 
It was the gryming|| of a new-fa'n snaw, 

Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-foot, 

Between the Dodhead and the Stob's Ha'.^f 

And whan he cam' to the fair tower yate, 
He shouted loud, and cried weel hie, 

Till out bespak' auld Gibby Elliot— 

" Whae's this that brings the fraye to me ?' 

" It's I, Jamie Telfer o* the fair Dodhead, 
And a harried man I think I be ! 

There's naething left at the fair Dodhead, 
But a waefu* wife and bairnies three." 



* Hardhaughswire is the pass from Liddesdale 
to the head of Tiviotdale.— Scott. 

f Borthwick water is a stream, which falls 
into the Tiviot three miles above Hawick. — Scott. 

$ The Dodhead, in Selkirkshire, near Singlee, 

where there are still the vestiges of an old tower. 

Scott. 

§ There is still a family of Telfers, residing near 
Langholm, who pretend to derive their descent 
from the Telfers of the Dodhead.— Scott. 

|| Gryming — Sprinkling. 

•jf Stobs Hall, upon Slitterick. Jamie Telfer 
made his first application here, because he seems 
to have paid the proprietor of that castle black- 
mad, or protection money.— Scott. 



" Gar seek your succour at Branksome Ha',* 
For succour ye'se get nane frae me ! 

Gae seek your succour where ye paid black mail, 
For, man ! ye ne'er paid money to me." 

Jamie has turned him round about, 
I wat the tear blinded his e'e — 

' : I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again, 
And the fair Dodhead I'll never see ! 

\ " My hounds may a' rin masterless, 
A.*/ My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, 

^3 My lord may grip my vassal lands, 
■"(SO For there again maun I never be •" 

[§Fy] He has turned him to the Tiviot side, 

E'en as fast as he could drie, 
^^A Till he oam' to the Coultart Cleugh,f 

And there he shouted baith loud and hie. 

JI^T Then up bespak' him auld Jock Grieve — 

" Whae's this that brings the fraye to me ?" 
" It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, 
A harried man I trow I be. 

" There's naething left in the fair Dodhead, 
But a greeting wife and bairnies three, 

And sax poor ca's stand in the sta', 
A' routing loud for their minnie." 

" Alack a wae !" quo' auld Jock Grieve, 
Alack ! my heart is sair for thee ! 
=j For I was married on the elder sister, 

And you on the youngest of a ! the three." 

\ Then he has ta'en out a bonnie black, 
ygj« "Was right weel fed wi' corn and hay, 

J And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back, 
[ ~J\ To the Catslockhill to tak' the fray. 

fsS\ And whan he cam' to the Catslockhill, 
w ^ J He shouted loud and cried weel hie, 

=?, Till out and spak' him William's Wat— 

" O whae's this brings the fraye to me P" 

\ " It's I, Jamie Telfer of the fair Dodhead, 
r^- ] A harried man I think I be ! 

p.^J The captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear ; 
L,/^>/j For God's sake rise and succour me !" 



= J * The ancient family seat of the lairds of 
-f^- f Euccleuch, near Hawick. — Scott. 
)jj)% f The Coultart Cieugh is nearly opposite to 



" Alas for wae !" quo' William's Wat, 
" Alack, for thee my heart is sah- ! 

I never cam' by the fair Dodhead, 
That ever I fand thy basket bare." 

He's set his twa sons on coal-black 9teeds, 

HimseP upon a freckled gray, 
And they are on wi Jamie Telfer, 

To Branksome Ha' to tak' the fray. 

And whan they cam' to Branksome Ha', 
They shouted a' baith loud and hie, 

Till up and spak' him auld Buccleuch, 

Said — " Whae's this brings the fraye to me?' 

" It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, 
And a harried man I think I be \ 

There's nought left in the fair Dodhead, 
But a greeting wife and bairnies three." 

" Alack for wae !" quoth the gude auld lord, 
And ever my heart is wae for thee ! 

But fye gar cry on Willie, my son, 

And see that he come to me speedilie ! 

" Gar warn the water, braid and wide,f 

Gar warn it sune and hastilie ! 
They that winna ride for Telfer's kye, 

Let them never look in the face o' me ! 

" Warn Wat o' Harden, and his sons,± 
Wi' them will Borthwick water ride ; 

Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh, 
And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside. 

' : Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,§ 
And warn the Currors o' the Lee j 

As ye cum down the Hermitage Slack, 
Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinberry." 



& 



m 



sSS 



^ 



Carlinrig, on the road between Hawick and 
Mosspaul. — Scott. 

t The water, in the mountainous districts of 
Scotland, is often used to express the banks of 
the river, which are the only inhabitable parts 
of the country. To raise the water, therefore, 
was to alarm those who lived along its side. 

Scott. 

± The estates, mentioned in this verse, be- 
longed to families of the name of Scott, resid- 
ing upon the waters of Borthwick and Tiviot, 
near the castle of their chief.— Scott. 

The pursuers seem to have taken the road 



S\ 364 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






The iscots they rade, the Scots they ran, 
Sae starkly and sae steadilie ! 

And aye the ower-word o' the thrang 
Was — " Rise for Branksome readilie !" 

The gear was driven the Frostylee up, * 
Frae the Frostylee unto the plain, 

Whan Willie has looked his men before, 
And saw the kye right fast driving. 



L^pTN " Whae drives thir kye ?" can Wilhe say, 

" To mak' an outspecklef o' me ?" 
<J\~T^ " It's I, the captain o' Bewcastle, Willie ; 
*" C5\) I wirina layne my name for thee." 

" will ye let Telfer's kye gae back, 
Or will ye do aught for regard o' me ? 

Or, by the faith of my body," quo' Willie Scott, 
" I'se ware my dame's caufs skin on thee !" 

" I winna let the kye gae back, 

Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear ; 

But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye, 
In spite of every Scot that's here." 

" Set on them, lads !" quo' Willie than ; 

" Fye, lads, set on them cruellie ! 
For ere they win to the Ritterford, 

Mony a toom saddle there sail be !" 

Then till't they gaed, wi' heart and hand ; 

The blows fell thick as bickering hail ; 
And mony a horse ran masterless, 

And mony a comely cheek was pale ! 

But Willie was stricken ower the head, 

And thro' the knapscap $ the sword hasgane ; 

And Harden grat for very rage, § 

Whan Willie on the grund lay slane. 






L^ 



But he's tane aff his gude steel cap, 
And thrice he's wav'd it in the air — 

The Dinlay || snaw was ne'er mair white, 
Nor the lyart locks of Harden's hair. 

" Revenge I revenge !" auld Wat can cry ; 

" Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie ! 
We'll ne'er see Tiviotside again, 

Or Willie's death revenged sail be." 

mony a horse ran masterless, 

The splintered lances flew on hie ; 

But or they wan to the Kershope ford, 
The Scots had gotten the victory. 

John o' Brigham there was slane, ^[ 
And John o' Barlow, as I hear say ; 

And thirty mae o' the captain's men, 
Lay bleeding on the grund that day. 



through the hills of Liddesdale, in order to col- 
lect forces, and intercept the forayers at the 
passage of the Liddel, on their return to Bew- 
castle. The Ritterford and Kershope-ford, after- 
mentioned, are noted fords on the river Liddel. 

* The Frostylee is a brook, which joins the 
Tiviot, near Mosspaul. — Scott. 

f Outspeckle — Laughing-stock. 

% Knapscap — Headpiece. 

§ Of this border laird, commonly called Auld 
Wat of Harden, tradition has preserved many 
anecdotes. He was married to Mary Scott, cele- 
brated in song by the title of the Flower of Yar- 
row. By their marriage -contract, the father-in- 



law, Philip Scott of Dryhope, was to find Harden 
in horse meat, and man's meat, at his tower of 
Dryhope, for a year and a day ; but five barons 
pledge themselves, that at the expiry of that 
period, the son-in-law should remove, without 
attempting to continue in possession by force ! 
A notary-public signed for all the parties to the 
deed, none of whom could write their names. 
The original is still in the charter room of the 
present Mr Scott of Harden. By the Flower of 
Yarrow the laird of Harden had six sons ; five of 
whom survived him, and founded the famines of 
Harden (now extinct,) Highchesters (now repre- 
senting Harden,) Reaburn, Wool, and Synton. 
The sixth son was slain at a fray, in a hunting- 
match, by the .Scotts of G-ilmanscleugh. His 
brothers flew to aru.s, but the old laird secured 
them in the dungeon of his tower, hurried to 
Edinburgh, stated the crime, and obtained a gift 
of the lands of the offenders from the crown. He 
returned to Harden with equal speed, released 
his sons, and showed them the charter. " To 
horse, lads!" cried the savage warrior, "and let 
us take possession ! the lands of Gilmansckueh 
are well worth a dead son." The property thus 
obtained continued in the family till the begin- 
ning of last century, when it was sold, by John 
Scott of Harden, to Ann, duchess of Buccleueh. 
A beautiful ballad, founded on this tradition, 
occurs in the Forest Minstrel, a collection of 
legendary poetry, by Mr James Hogg.— Scott. 

|| The Dinlay — is a mountain in Liddesdale. 

•|f Perhaps one of the ancient family of 
Brougham, in Cumberland. The editor has used 






The captain was run thro' the thick of the thigh. 
And broken was his right leg bane ; 

If he had lived this hundred year, 

He had never been loved by woman again. 

"Hae back thy kye !" the captain said ; 

" Dear kye, I trow, to some they be ! 
For gin I suld live a hundred years, 

There will ne'er fair lady smile on me." 

Then word is gane to the captain's bride, 
Even in the bower where that she lay, 

That her lord was prisoner in enemy's land, 
Since into Tividale he had led the way. 

" I wad lourd * have had a winding-sheet, 
And helped to put it ower his head, 

Ere he had been disgraced by the border Scot, 
Whan he ower Liddel his men did lead !" 

There was a wild gallant amang us a', 

His name was Watty wi' the Wudspurs, f 

Cried — " On for his house in Stanegirthside, $ 
If ony man will ride with us !" 

When they cam' to the Stanegirthside, 
They dang wi' trees, and burst the door ; 

They loosed out a' the captains kye, 
And set them forth our lads before. 

There was an auld wyfe ayont the fire, 

A wee bit o' the captain's kin — 
" Whae dar loose out the captain's kye, 

Or answer to him and his men ?" 

some freedom with the original in the subsequent 
verse. The account of the captain's disaster 
{teste Leva vulnerata) is rather too naive for literal 
publication. — Scott. 

* Lourd — Rather. 

f Wudspurs — Hotspur, or Madspur. 

% A house belonging to the Foresters, situated 
on the English side of the Liddel. 

An article in the list of attempts upon England, 
fouled by the commissioners at Berwick, in the 
year 1587, may relate to the subject of the fore- 
going ballad. 

October, 1582. 

Thomas Mus- C Walter Scott, ~) 200 kine 
grave, deputy of ) laird of Buck- (and oxen, 
Bewcastle,and the J luth, and his J 300 gait 
tenants, against (_ complices ; for J and sheep. 
— Introduction to the History of Westmoreland and 
Cumberland, p. 31.— Scott. 



"It's I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye I 
I winna lajne my name frae thee ! 

And I will loose out the captain's kye, 
In scorn of a* his men and he." 

Whan they cam' to the Fair Dodhead, 
They were a wellcum sight to see ! 

For instead of his ain ten milk kye, 

Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three. 

And he has paid the rescue shot, 
Baith wi* goud, and white monie; 

And at the burial o' Willie Scott, 
I wat was mony a weeping e'e. 



[From the Border Minstrelsy, where it is pub- 
lished from a copy in the Bannatyne MS. in the 
hand-writing of the Hon. Mr Carmichael, advo- 
cate. It first appeared inaccurately in Allan 
Ramsay's Evergreen. — "The skirmish of the 
Reidswire," says Sir Walter, "happened upon 
the 7th of June, 1575, at one of the meetings, 
held by the wardens of the marches, for arrange- 
ments necessary upon the border. Sir John Car- 
michael, ancestor of the present earl of Hyndford, 
was the Scottish warden, and Sir John Forster 
held that office on the English middle march. 
In the course of the day, which was employed, as 
usual, in redressing wrongs, a bill, or indictment, 
at the instance of a Scottish complainer, was 
found (i. e. found a true bill) against one Farn- 
stein, a notorious English freebooter. Forster 
alleged that he had fled from justice: Carmi- 
chael, considering this as a pretext to avoid 
making compensation for the felony, bade him 
'play fair!' to which the haughty English war- 
den retorted, by some injurious expressions re- 
specting Carmichael's family, and gave other open 
signs of resentment. His retinue, chiefly men of 
Redesdale and Tynedale, the most ferocious of 
the English borderers, glad of any pretext for a 
quarrel, discharged a flight of arrows among the 
Scots. A warm conflict ensued, in which, Car- 
michael being beat down and made prisoner, 
success seemed at first to incline to the English 
side, till the Tynedale men, throwing themselves 
too greedily upon the plunder, fell into disorder ; 
and a body of Jedburgh citizens arriving at that 
instant, the skirmish terminated in a complete 



m 






a 



victory on the part of the Scots, who took pri- 
soners the English warden, James Ogle, Cuth- 
bert Colling wood, Francis Russell, son to the earl 
of Bedford, and son-in-law to Forster, some of 
the Fenwicks, and several other border chiefs. 
They were sent to the earl of Morton, then regent, 
who detained them at Dalkeith for some days, 
till the heat of their resentment was abated ; 
which prudent precaution prevented a war be- 
twixt the two kingdoms. He then dismissed 
them with great expressions of regard ; and, to 
satisfy queen Elizabeth,* sent up Carmichael to 
York, whence he was soon after honourably dis- 
missed. The field of battle, called the Reidswire, 
is a part of the Carter Mountain, about ten miles 
from Jedburgh.— See, for these particulars, Gods- 
croft, Spottiswoode, and Johnstone's History. 

" The modern spelling of the word Eeidswire is 
adopted, to prevent the mistake in pronunciation 
which might be occasioned by the use of the Scot- 
tish qu for w. The MS. reads Reidsquair. Swair, 
or Swire, signifies the descent of a hill ; and the 
epithet Red is derived from the colour of the 
heath, or, perhaps, from the Reid-water, which 
rises at no great distance."] 

The seventh of July, the suith to say, 

At the Reidswire the tryst was set ; 
Our wardens they affixed the day, 

And, as they promised, so they met. 

Alas ! that day I'll ne'er forgett ! 
Was sure sae fear'd, and then sae faine — ■ 

They came theare justice for to gett, 
Will never green f to come again. 

Carmichael was our warden then, $ 
He caused the country to conveen ; 

* Her ambassador at Edinburgh refused to lie 
in a bed of state which had been provided for him, 
till this "odious fact " had been inquired into. — 
Murdin's State Papers, vol. ii. p. 282.— Scott. 

•f Green — Long. 

i Sir John Carmichael was a favourite of the 
regent Morton, by whom he was appointed 
warden of the middle marches, in preference to 
the border chieftains. With the like policy, the 
regent married Archibald Carmichael, the war- 
den's brother, to the heiress of Edrom, in the 
Merse, much contrary to the inclination of the 
lady and her friends. In like manner, he com- 
pelled another heiress, Jane Sleigh, of Cumlege, 
to marry Archibald, brother to Auchinleck of 
Auchinleck, one of his dependants. By such 



And the Laird's Wat, that worthie man, § 
Brought in that sirname weil beseen : j| 



arbitrary practices, Morton meant to strengthen 
his authority on the borders ; instead of which, 
he hastened his fall, by giving disgust to his 
kinsman, the earl of Angus, and his other friends, 
who had been established in the country for ages. 
—Godscroft, vol. ii. pp. 238, 246. Sir John Car- 
michael, the warden, was murdered 16th June, 
1600, by a party of borderers, at a place called 
Raesknows, near Lochmaben, whither he was 
going to hold a court of justice. Two of the 
ringleaders in the slaughter, Thomas Armstrong, 
called Ringan's Tarn, and Adam Scott, called 
the Pecket, were tried at Edinburgh, at the in- 
stance of Carmichael of Edrom. They were 
condemned to have their right hands struck off, 
thereafter to be hanged, and their bodies gib- 
betted on the Borough Moor ; which sentence 
was executed 14th November, 1601. " This 
Pecket, (saith Birrel in his Diary,) was " ane of 
the maist notalrie thieffes that ever raid ;" he 
calls his name Steill, which appears, from the 
record, to be a mistake. Four years afterwards, 
an Armstrong, called Sandy of Roruanbum, and 
several others of that tribe, were executed for 
this and other excesses. — Books of Adjournal of 
these dates. — Scott. 

§ The chief who led out the sirname of Scott 
upon this occasion, was (saith Satchells) Walter 
Scott of Ancrum, a natural son of Walter of 
Buccleuch. The laird of Buccleuch was then a 
minor. The ballad seems to have been popular 
in Satchells' days, for he quotes it literally. He 
must, however, have been mistaken in this par- , 
ticular ; for the family of Scott of Ancrum, in j 
all our books of genealogy, deduce their descent 
from the Scotts of Balwearie, in Fife, whom they 
represent. The first of this family, settled in I 
Roxburghshire, is stated in Douglas' Baronage to t 
have been Patrick Scott, who purchased the 
lands of Ancrum in the reign of James VI. He ] 
therefore could not be the Laird's Wat of the I 
ballad ; indeed, from the list of border families ' 
in 1597, Kerr appears to have been proprietor of 
Ancrum at the date of the ballad. It is plainly ( 
written in the MS. the Laird's Wat, i. e. the j 
Laird's son Wat ; notwithstanding which, it has 
always hitherto been printed the Laird Wat. If ti 
Douglas be accurate in his genealogy, the person / 
meant must be the young laird of Buccleuch, 
afterwards distinguished for his surprise of Car- 
Castle.— See Kinmont Willie. I am the more | 



The Armestranges, that aye ha'e been * 
A hardie house, but not a hail, 

The Elliots' honours to maintaine, 
Brought down the lave o' Liddesdale. 

Then Tividale came to wi' speid ; 

The sheriffe brought the Douglas down,f 
Wi' Cranstane, Gladstain, good at need, £ 

Baith Rewle water, and Hawick town. 

Beanjeddart bauldly made him boun, 
Wi* a' the Trumbills, stronge and stout ; 

The Eutherfoords, with grit renown, § 
Convoyed the town of Jedbrugh out. 



confirmed in this opinion, because Kerr of An- 
crum was at this time a fugitive, for slaying one 
of the Rutherfords, and the tower of Ancrum 
given in keeping to the Turnbulls, his hereditary 
enemies. His mother, however, a daughter of 
Home of "VVedderburn, contrived to turn out the 
Turnbulls, and possess herself of the place by 
surprise.— Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 250. — Scott. 

|| Weil beseem. — Well appointed. The word 
occurs in Morte Arthur : " And when Sir Per- 
cival saw this, he hied them thither, and found 
the ship covered with silke, more blacker than 
any beare ; and therein was a gentlewoman, of 
great beautie, and she was richly beseene, that 
none might be better." — Scott. 

* This clan are here mentioned as not being 
hail, or whole, because they were outlawed or 
broken men. Indeed, many of them had become 
Englishmen, as the phrase then went. Accord- 
ingly, we find, from Paton, that forty of them, 
under the laird of Mangertoun, joined Somerset 
upon his expedition into Scotland. — Paton in 
Dulyell's Fragments, p. 1. There was an old 
alliance betwixt the Elliots and Armstrongs, 
here alluded to. For the enterprizes of the Arm- 
strongs, against their native country, when under 
English assurance, see Mur din's State Papers, 
vol. i. p. 43. From which it appears, that, by 
command of Sir Ralph Evers, this clan ravaged 
almost the whole west border of Scotland. — Scott. 

f Douglas of Cavers, hereditary sheriff of Te- 
viotdale, descended from Black Archibald, who 
carried the standard of his father, the earl of 
Douglas, at the battle of Otterbourne.— See the 
Ballad of that name.— Scott. 

? Cranstoun of that ilk, ancestor to lord Crans- 
toun ; and Gladstain of Gladstains — Scott. 

§ These were ancient and powerful border 
clans, residing chiefly upon the river Jed. Hence, & 



Of other clans I cannot tell, 

Because our warning was not wide. — 
Be this our folks ha'e ta'en the fell, 

And planted down palliones || there to bide. 

We looked down the other side, 
And saw come breasting ower the brae, 

Wi' Sir John Forster for their guyde, «f 
Full fifteen hundred men and mae. 

It grieved him sair that day, I trow, 

Wi' Sir George Hearoune of Schipsyde- 
Because we were not men enow, [house : * 

They counted us not worth a louse. 

Sir George was gentle, meek and douse, 
But he was hail and het as fire ; 

And yet, for all his cracking erouse, ft 
He rewd the raid o' the Reidswire. 

To deal with proud men is but pain ; 

For either must ye fight or flee, 
Or else no answer make again, 

But play the beast, and let them be. 

It was na wonder he was hie, 
Had Tindaill, Reedsdaill, at his hand 3 ^ 

Wi' Cukdaill, Gladsdaill on the lee, 
And Hebsrime, and Xorthumbeiland. 










they naturally convoyed the town of Jedburgh 
out. Although notorious freebooters, they were 
specially patronised by Morton, who, by their 
means, endeavoured to counterpoise the power 
of Buccleuch and Ferniherst, during the civil 
wars attached to the queen's faction. 

The following fragment of an old ballad is 
quoted in a letter from an aged gentleman of this 
name, residing at New-York, to a friend in 
Scotland : 

" Bauld Rutherfurd, he was fow stout, 
Wi' a' his nine sons him round about; 
He led the town o' Jedburgh out, 
All bravely fought that day." 

|| Palliones— Tents. 

*[ This gentleman is called, erroneously, in 
some copies of this ballad, Sir George. He was 
warden of the mid-marches of England. — Scott. 

** Sir George Heron of Chipchase-house, whose 
character is contrasted with that of the English 
warden. — Scott. 

ff Cracking erouse — Talking big. 

44 These are districts, or dales, on the English 
border. Hebsrime seems to be an error in the 
MS. for Hebburn upon the Till.— Scott. 



I 



csi 




Yett was our meeting meek enough, 
Begun wi' merriment and mowes, 

And at the brae, aboon the heugh, 

The dark sat down to call the rowes. * 
And some for kyne, and some for ewes, 

Called in of Dandrie, Hob, and Jock — 

We saw, come marching ower the knows, 

Five hundred Fennicks in a flock, f 

With jack and speir, and bows all bent, 

And warlike weapons at their will : 
Although we were na well content, 

Yet, by my trouth, we feared no ill. 

Some gaed to drink, and some stude still, 
And some to cards and dice them sped ; 

Till on ane Farnstein they fyled a bill, 
And he was fugitive and fled. 

Carmichael bade them speik out plainlie, 
And cloke no cause for ill nor good; 

The other, answering him as vainlie, 
Began to reckon kin and blood : 
He raise, and raxed J him where he stood, 

And bade him match him with his marrows ; 
Then Tindaill heard them reasun rude, 

And they loot off a flight of arrows. 

Then was there nought but bow and speir, 

And every man pulled out a brand ; 
" A Schaftan and a Fenwick" thare : 

Gude Symington was slain frae hand. 

The Scotsmen cried on other to stand, 
Frae time they saw John Eobson slain — 

What should they cry ? the king's command 
Could cause no cowards turn again. 

Up rose the laird to red the cumber, 

Which would not be for all his boast; — 

What could we doe with sic a number ? 
Fyve thousand men into a host, 
Then Henry Purdie proved his cost, 

And very narrowlie had mischiefed him, 
And there we had our warden lost, 

Wer't not the grit God he relieved him. 

Another throw the breiks him bair, 
Whill flatlies to the ground he fell : 

Then thought I weel we had lost him there, 
Into my stomack it struck a knell . 

* Rowes — Rolls. 

f The Fenwicks; a powerful and numerous 
Northumberland clan.— Scott. 
$ Raxed him — Stretched himself up. 



Yet up he raise the treuth to tell ye, 
And laid about him dints full dour ; 

His horsemen they raid sturdily, 
And stude about him in the stoure. 

Then raise the Slogan with ane shout — § 
" Fy, Tindaill, to it! Jedbrugh's here!" 

I trow he was not half sae stout, 
But anis his stomach was asteir. 

§ The gathering word, peculiar to a certain 
name, or set of people, was termed slogan or 
slughorn, and was always repeated at an onset, 
as well as on many other occasions, as appears 
from the following passage of an old author, 
whom this custom seems to have offended — for he 
con plains, 

" That whereas alweys, both in al tounes of 
war, and in al campes of armies, quietnes and 
stilnes without nois is principally in the night, 
after the watch is set, observed (I need not reason 
why.) Yet, our northern prikkers, the border- 
ers, notwithstanding, with great enormitie, (as 
thought me) and not unlyke (to be playn) unto a 
masterless hounde houyling in a hie wey, when 
he hath lost him he wayted upon, sum hoopying, 
sum whistelyng, and most with crying, a Ber- 
rvyke ! a Berwyke ! a Fenrvyke ! a Fenwyke ! a 
Bulmer ! a Bulmer ! or so otherwise as theyr cap- 
tein's names wear, never linnde those troublous 
and daungerous noyses all the night long. They 
sayd they did it to fynd out their captein and 
fellowes ; but if the soldiours of our oother coun- 
tries and sheres had used the same manner, in 
that case we shoold have oftymes had the state of 
our campe more lyke the outrage of a dissolute 
huntyng, than the quiet of a wel ordred army." 
— Patten's Account of Somerset's Expedition, p. 
76. — Apud Dalyell's Fragments. 

Honest Patten proceeds, with great prolixity, 
to prove, that this was a custom more honoured 
in the breach than in the observance ; and, like 
Fluellen, declares, " that such idle pribble prab- 
bles were contrary to all the good customs and 
disciplines of war." Nevertheless, the custom of 
crying the slogan, or ensenzie, is often alluded to 
in all our ancient histories and poems. It was 
usually the name of the clan, or place of rendez- 
vous, or leader. In 1335, the English, led by 
Thomas of Rosslyne, and William Moubray, as- 
saulted Aberdeen. The former was mortally 
wounded in the onset ; and, as his followers were 
pressing forward, shouting Rosslyne! Rosslyne ! 
" Cry Moubray," said the expiring chieftain ; 



With gun and genzie, * bow and spier, 
lr%J Men might see mony a cracked crown ! 
't^~ > A But up aman ° tne merchant geir, 

They were as busy as we were down. 

The swallow tail frae tackles flew, f 

Five hundreth flain $ into a flight, 
But we had pestelets anow, 

And shot among them as we might. 

With help of God the game gaed right, 
Frae time the foremost of them fell ; 

Then ower the know without goodnight, 
They ran with mony a shout and yell. 

But after they had turned backs, 

Yet Tindaill men they turned again ; 
And had not been the merchant packs, § 

There had been mae of Scotland slain. 

But, Jesu ! if the folks were fain 
To put the bussing on their thies ; 

And so they fled, wi' a' their main, 
Down ower the brae, like clogged bees. 

Sir Francis Russel ta'en was there, || 
And hurt, as we hear men rehearse ; 

" Rosslyne is gone !" The Highland clans had 
I also their appropriate slogans. The Macdonalds 
cried Frich, (heather ;) the Macphersons, Craig- 
Vbh ; the Grants Craig -Elachie ; and the Macfar- 
lanes Loch Sloy. — Scott. 
* Genzie — Engine of war. 
f The Scots, on this occasion, seem to have had 
chiefly fire-arms ; the English retaining still 
their partiality for their ancient weapon, the 
longbow. It also appears, by a letter from the 
Duke of Norfolk to Cecil, that the English bor- 
derers were unskilful in fire-arms, or, as he says, 
"our countrymen be not so commyng with shots 
as I woolde wishe." — See MurdiiVs State Papers, 
vol. i. p. 319.— Scott. 

% Flain — Arrows ; hitherto absurdly printed 
slain. 

§ The ballad -maker here ascribes the victory to 
the real cause; for the English borderers, dis- 
persing to plunder the merchandise, gave the 
I opposite party time to recover from their surprise. 
It seems to have been usual for travelling mer- 
chants to attend border meetings, although one 
would have thought the kind of company, usually 
assembled there, might have deterred them. — 
Scott. 

U This gentleman was son to the earl of Bed- 
ford. He was afterwards killed in a fray of a< 



Proud Wallinton was wounded.sair, % 
Albeit he be a Fen nick fierce. 
But if ye wald a souldier search, 

Among them a' were ta'en that night, 
Was nane sae wordie to put in verse, 

As Collingwood, that courteous knight. * 

Young Henry Schafton, ff he is hurt ; 

A souldier shot him wi' a bow : 
Scotland has cause to mak' great sturt, 

For laiming of the laird of Mow. $$ 

The Laird's Wat did weel, indeed ; 
His friends stood stoutlie by himsel', 

With little Gladstain, gude in need, 
For Gretein kend na gude be ill. §§ 

The Sheriffe wanted not gude will, 
Howbeit he might not fight so fast ; 

Beanjeddart, Hundlie, and Hun thill, |||| 
Three, on they laid weel at the last. 



similar nature, at a border-meeting between the 
same Sir John Forster (father-in-law to Russell), 
and Thomas Kerr of Fairnihurst, A. D. 1585.— 
Scott. 

*ft Fenwick of Wallington, a powerful North- 
umbrian chief. — Scott. 

** Sir Cuthbert Collingwood. Besides these 
gentlemen, James Ogle, and many other North- 
umbrians of note, were made prisoners. Sir 
George Heron, of Chipchase and Ford, was slain, 
to the great regret of both parties, being a man 
highly esteemed by the Scots as well as the Eng- 
lish. When the prisoners were brought to Mor- 
ton, at Dalkeith, and, among other presents, 
received from him some Scottish falcons, one or' 
his train observed, that the English were noblj 
treated, since they got live hawks for dead herons. 
—Godsc r oft. —Scott. 

ft The name of this gentleman does not appeal 
in the MS. in the Advocates' Library, but is re- 
stored from a copy in single sheet, printed early 
in the last century. — Scott. 

$± An ancient family on the borders. The 
lands of Mowe are situated upon the river Bow- 
mont, in Roxburghshire. The family is now 
represented by William Molle, Esq. of Mains, 
who has restored the ancient spelling of the name. 
The laird of Mowe, here mentioned, was the only 
gentleman of note killed in the skirmish on the 
Scottish side. — Scott. 

§§ Graden, a family of Kerrs. 

1111 Douglas of Beanjeddart, an ancient branch 
2a 



KgJJ 






v < 



Except the horsemen of the guard, 
If I could put men to availe, 

None stoutlier stood out for their laird, 
Nor did the lads of Liddisdail. 

But little harness had we there ; 

But auld Badreule had on a jack, * 
And did right weel, I you declare, 

With all his Trumbills at his back. 

Gude Edderstane was not to lack, f 
Nor Kirktoun, Newton, noble men ! $ 



J i V-^) of the house of Cavers, possessing property near 
C ©j *^ e junction of the Jed and Teviot. 

sf\ Hundlie. — Rutherford of H undlie, or Hundalee, 

< ] situated on the Jed above Jedburgh. 

Wjy Hunthill. — The old tower of Hunthill was situ- 

f^y5f\ ated about a mile above Jedburgh. It was the 

'A patrimony of an ancient family of Rutherfords. 

I suppose the person, here meant, to be the same 

who is renowned in tradition by the name of the 

Cock of Hunthill. His sons were executed for 

march-treason, or border-theft, along with the 

lairds of Corbet, Greenhead, and Overton, A. D. 

1588.— Johnston's History, p. 129.— -Scott. 

* Sir Andrew Turnbull of Bedrule, upon Rule 

Water. This old laird was so notorious a thief, 

that the principal gentlemen of the clans of Hume 

and Kerr refused to sign a bond of alliance, to 

which he, with the Turnbulls and Rutherfords, 

/sS: \ was a party ; alleging that their proposed allies 

had stolen Hume of Wedderburn's cattle. The 

authority of Morton, however, compelled them 

% to digest the affront. The debate (and a curious 

v,\r / one it is) may be seen at length in Godscroft, vol. 

/3fe\ *• P* 2 ^ 1, The Rutherfords became more lawless 

\ ~ : , : " f\ after having been deprived of the countenance of 

jlL/ the court, for slaying the nephew of Forman, 

f (-*.*r- archbishop of St Andrews, who had attempted 

<\/^J to carry off the heiress of Rutherford. This lady 

i^T$\ was afterwards married to James Stuart of Tra- 

Lk;? ) quair, son to James, earl of Buchan, according 

\yl|^ to a papal bull, dated 9th November, 1504. By 

this lady a great estate in Tiviotdale fell to the 

Si^Sy family of Tra quair, which was sold by James, 

£^L~\ earl of Traquair, lord-high-treasurer of Scotland, 

; 1 in consequence of the pecuniary difficulties to 

Ip-'^J which he was reduced, by his loyal exertions in 

V. f v ' favour of Charles I. — Scott. 

<*/--% f An ancient family of Rutherfords ; I believe, 

//■%5\ indeed, the most ancient now extant. The 

1%=,) family is represented by John Rutherford, Esq. 

of Edg?rstane. His seat is about three miles 

\ V'=i distant from the field of battle.— Seott. 



Thirs all the specials I of speake, 
By others that I could not ken. 

Who did invent that day of play, 

We need not fear to find him soon ; 
For Sir John Forster, I dare well say, 

Made us this noisome afternoon. 

Not that I speak preceislie out, 
That he supposed it would be perril ; 

But pride, and breaking out of feuid, 
Garr'd Tindaill lads begin the quarrel. 



l&lmrooNt SIUHk, 



[In the year 1596, William Armstrong of Kin- 
mont, a noted border trooper, was taken prisoner 
by the warden of the western marches of England, 
and lodged in Carlisle castle. This was in defi- 
ance of a truce which then existed between the 
wardens of the borders. The lord of Buccleugh, 
who had the charge of Liddesdale, after in vain 
demanding that Kinmont Willie should be set 
at liberty, gallantly took the castle of Carlisle by 
surprise one night with a body of 200 men, and 
effected the prisoner's delivery. The consequences 
of the enterprize are thus mentioned by Spottis- 
wood :— " This fell out the 13th of April, 1596. 
The queen of England, having notice sent her of 
what was done, stormed not a little. One of her 
chief castles surprised, a prisoner taken forth of 
the hands of the warden, and carried away, so 
far within England, she esteemed a great affront. 
The lieger, Mr Bowes, in a frequent convention 
kept at Edinburgh, the 22d of May, did, as he 
was charged, in a long oration, aggravate the 
heinousness of the fact, concluding that peace 
could not longer continue betwixt the two realms, 
unless Bacleuch were delivered in England, to be 
pun ished at the queen 's pleasure. Bacleuch com - 
pearing, and charged with the fact, made answer 
— ' That he went not into England with intention 
to assault any of the queen's houses, or to do 



$ The parish of Kirktoun belonged, I believe, 
about this time, to a branch of the Cavers family ; 
but Kirkton of Stewartfield is mentioned in the 
list of border clans in 1597. 

Newton. — This is probably Grinyslaw of Little 
Newton, mentioned in the said roll of border 
clans. — Scott. 



wrong to any of her subjects, but only to relieve 
a subject of Scotland unlawfully taken, and more 
unlawfully detained ; that, in the time of a gen- 
eral assurance, in a day of truce, he was taken 
prisoner against all order, neither did he attempt 
his relief till redress was refused ; and that he had 
carried the business in such a moderate manner, 
as no hostility was committed, nor the least 
wrong offered to any within the castle ; yet was 
he content, according to the ancient treaties ob- 
served betwixt the two realms, when as mutual 
injuries were alleged, to be tried by the commis- 
sioners that it should please their majesties to 
appoint, and submit himself to that which they 
should decern.' — The convention, esteeming the 
answer reasonable, did acquaint the ambassador 
therewith, and offered to send commissioners to 
the borders, with all diligence, to treat with such 
as the queen should be pleased to appoint for her 
part." 

"This affair of Kinmont Willie," says Sir 
Walter Scott, " was not the only occasion upon 
which the undaunted keeper of Liddesdale gave 
offence to the haughty Elizabeth. For, even be- 
fore this business was settled, certain of the 
English borderers having invaded Liddesdale, 
and wasted the country, the laird of Buccleuch 
retaliated the injury by a raid into England, in 
which he not only brought off much spoil, but 
apprehended thirty-six of the Tynedale thieves, 
all of whom he put to death. How highly the 
queen of England's resentment blazed on this 
occasion, may be judged from the preface to her 
letter to Bowes, then her ambassador in Scotland. 
*I wonder how base -minded that king thinks 
me, that, with patience, I can digest this dis- 
honourable Let him know, 

therefore, that I will have satisfaction, or else . 

' These broken words of ire 

are inserted betwixt the subscription and the 
address of the letter. Indeed, so deadly was the 
resentment of the English, on account of the 
affronts put upon them by this formidable chief- 
tain, that there seems at one time to have been 
a plan formed (not, as was alleged, without 
Elizabeth's privity,) to assassinate Buccleuch. 
The matter was at length arranged by the com- 
missioners of both nations in Berwick, by whom 
it was agreed that delinquents should be delivered 
up on both sides, and that the chiefs themselves 
should enter into ward in the opposite countries 
till these were given up, and pledges granted for 
the future maintenance of the quiet of the bor- 
ders. Buccleuch, and Sir Robert Ker of Cessford 



^(ancestor of the duke of Roxburgh,) appear to .' 
have struggled hard against complying with this v , - , 
regulation ; so much so, that it required all 
James's authority to bring to order these two ( 
powerful chiefs. When at length they appeared, % 
for the purpose of delivering themselves up to be 
warded at Berwick, an incident took place, which 
nearly occasioned a revival of the deadly feud 
which formerly subsisted between the Scots and 
theKers. Buccleuch had chosen, for his guardian, ^ 
during his residence in England, Sir William / 
Selby, master of the ordnance at Berwick, and 
accordingly gave himself into his hands. Sir 
Robert Ker was about to do the same, when a 
pistol was discharged by one of his retinue, and 
the cry of treason was raised. Had not the earl 
of Home been present, with a party of Merse men, 
to preserve order, a dreadful tumult would pro- 
bably have ensued. As it was, the English com- M* 
missioners returned in dismay to Berwick, much EpsS 
disposed to wreak their displeasure on Buccleuch ; sWk 
and he, on his side, mortally offended with Cess- f 
ford, by whose means, as he conceived, he had Ki 
been placed in circumstances of so much danger. St " 
Sir Robert Ker, however, appeased all parties, by / \ ' 
delivering himself up to ward in England ; on Y~-= 
which occasion, he magnanimously chose for his , " ';~ 
guardian Sir Robert Carey, deputy-warden of the 
east marches, notwithstanding various causes of )>\ 
animosity which existed betwixt them. The °2jR 
hospitality of Carey equalled the generous confi- [2 
dence of Cessford, and a firm friendship was the \s§ 
consequence. Buccleuch appears to have re- y 
mained in England from October, 1597, till Feb- 
ruary, 1598. According to ancient family tradi- \ J& 
tion, Buccleuch was presented to Elizabeth, who, ,/vjk 
with her usual rough and peremptory address, f 
demanded of him, ' how he dared to undertake 
an enterprize so desperate and presumptuous.' 
' What is it,' answered the undaunted chieftain, £ 
* What is it that a man dares not do ?' Eliza- 
beth, struck with the reply, turned to a lord in 
waiting ; ' With ten thousand such men,' said 
she, 'our brother of Scotland might shake the 
firmest throne of Europe.' Luckily, perhaps, for 
the murtheress of queen Mary, James's talents 
did not lie that way. 

The articles, settled by the commissioners at 
Berwick, were highly favourable to the peace of 
the border. By article sixth, all wardens and 
keepers are discharged from seeking reparation of 
injuries, in the ancient hostile mode of riding, or 
causing to ride, in warlike manner against the 

^opposite march; and that under the highest f» 



( 



rK) 



\<SYi 



0*3 






penalty, unless authorized by a warrant under {fo 
the hand of their sovereign . The mention of the 
word keeper, alludes obviously to the above-men- 
tioned reprisals, made by Buccleueh, in the 
capacity of keeper of Liddesdale, 

" This ballad is preserved, by tradition, on the 
west borders, but much mangled by reciters : so 
that some conjectural emendations have been 
absolutely necessary to render it intelligible. In 
particular, the Eden has been substituted for the 
Eske, the latter name being inconsistent with 
geography.'*] 

O havb ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde ? 

have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroop ? 
How they ha' ta'en bauld Kinmont Willie, 

On Hairibee to hang him up ?* 

Had Willie had but twenty men, 

But twenty men as stout as he, 
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en, 

Wi' eight score in his cumpanie. 

They band his legs beneath the steed, 
They tied his hands behind his back ; 

They guarded him, fivesome on each side, 

And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.f 

They led him thro' the Liddel-raek, 

And also thro' the Carlisle sands ; 
They brought him to Carlisle castell, 

To be at my Lord Scroop's commands. 

" My hands are tied, but my tongue is free, 
And whae will dare this deed avow ? 

Or answer by the border law ? 

Or answer to the bauld Buccleueh V 

" Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver ! 

There's never a Scot shall Set ye free : 
Before ye cross my castle yate, 

1 trow ye shall take farewell o' me." 

"Fear na ye that, my lord," quo' Willie : 

" By the faith o' my body, Lord .Scroop," he 



g= s/ " I never yet lodged in a hostelrie, 

^o (O/i But I paid my lawing before I gaed." 



( §=-3 ) * Hairibee is the place of execution at Carlisle. 

JfA^ Scoit. 

=. == f The Liddel rack is a ford on the Liddel.— 

\J Start. 



Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper, A^fJ i 

In Branksome Ha', where that he lay, ^"^J 

That Lord Scroop has ta'en the Kinmont C^^to 

Willie, (/&°\ 

Between the hours of night and day. K=_-^ 

He has ta'en the table wi' his hand, vfj^-) 

He garr'd the red wine spring on hie — In^s 

"Now Christ's curse on my head," he said, =Eis=f 

"But avenged of Lord Scroop I'll be ! < y^^] 

" O is my basnet a widow's curch ? \S^7 

Or my lance a wand of the willow tree ? Yrff^ 

Or my arm a ladye's lilye hand, (r c -'^| 

That an English lord should lightly me I /l§OI 

" And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, )e?\"/ 

Against the truce of border tide ? - 0^\S 

And forgotten that the bauld Buccleueh Ig^ -^f 

Is Keeper here on the Scottish side ? ^SPIS 

"And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont 
Willie, 

Withouten either dread or fear ? 
And forgotten that the bauld Buccleueh 

Can back a steed, or shake a spear ? 

" O were there war between the lands, 

As well I wot that there is none, 
I would slight Carlisle castell high, 

Tho' it were builded of marble stone. 

"I would set that castell in a low, 

And sloken it with English blood i 
There's nevir a man in Cumberland, 

Should ken where Carlisle castell stood. 

" But since nae war's between the lands, 
And there is peace, and peace should be ; 

I'll neither harm English lad or lass, 
And yet the Kinmont freed shall be '." 

He has call'd him forty marchmen bauld, 

I trow they were of his ain name, 
Except Sir Gilbert Elliot call'd, 

The laird of Stobs, 1 mean the same. 

He has call'd him forty marchmen bauld, 
Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleueh ; 

With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, i 
And gleuves of green, and feathers blue. 




-fpfN There were five and five before them a', 

V?. c y Wi' hunting horns and bugles bright ; 

^s— ^ And five and five came wi' Buccleuch, 

/=>(S0 Like warden's men, arrayed for fight : 

^== : j 4.nd five and five, like a mason gang, 

r^k'^j That carried the ladders lang and hie ; 

lCl^l And five and five, like broken men ; 

%/?-J= And so they reached the "VVoodhouselee. * 

LJlpr'N And as we cross'd the Bateable Land, 

vX<5/ When to the English side we held, 

3^"—^ The first o' men that we met wi', 

/"(^y Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde ? 

*~^= ' g J " Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen ?" 

f^f <y Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me !" 

VxX " We go to hunt an English stag, 

\/y>j= Eas trespassed on the Scots countrie." 

I Qjpr' " Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men ?" 

VgF A Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell me true J" 

vHqY " ^ Ve ^° to ca * cn a ran k reiver, 

^Y-%9 Has broken faith wi' the Bauld Buccleuch." 



w 



* Woodhouselee ; a house on the border, be- 
longing to Buccleuch. 

The Salkeldes, or Sakeldes, were a powerful 
family in Cumberland, possessing, among other 
manors, that of Corby, before it came into the 
possession of the Howards, in the beginning of 
the seventeenth century. A strange stratagem 
was practised by an outlaw, called Jock Grame 
of the Peartree, upon Mr Saikelde, sheriff of 
Cumberland ; who is probably the person alluded 
to in the ballad, as the fact is stated to have hap- 
pened late in Elizabeth's time. The brother of 
this free-booter was lying in Carlisle jail for exe- 
cution, when Jock of the Peartree came riding 
past the gate of Corby castle. A child of the 
sheriff was playing before the door, to whom the 
outlaw gave an apple, saying, " Master, will you 
ride ?" The boy willingly consenting, Grame 
took him up before him, carried him into Scot- 
land, and would never part with him, till he had 
his brother safe from the gallows. There is no 
historical ground for supposing, either that Sai- 
kelde, or any one else, lost his life in the raid of 
Carlisle. 

In the list of Border clans, 1597, Will of Kin- 
month, with Kyrstie Armestrange, and John 
Skynbank, are mentioned as leaders of a band of 
Armstrongs called Sandies Barnes, inhabiting 
the Debateable Land. — Scott. 



Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, f^= 1 

Wi' a' your ladders, lang and hie ?" \/> Jj 

" We gang to herry a corbie's nest, £^T/Vo 

That wons not far frae Woodhouselee." (&) <^ 

" Where be ye gaun, ye broken men ?" ( TSg^ 

Quo' fause Sakelde ; "come tell to me !' yf -sT} 

If ow Dickie of Dryhope led that band, ?*N^?\ 

And the never a word o' lear had he* ir\j 

" Why trespass ye on the English side ? /^J 

Row-footed outlaws, stand ]" quo' he j W jJ 

The never a word had Dickie to say, S^C/u, 

Sae he thrust the lance through his fause \J^)'\ 

bodie. Atejff 

Then on we held for Carlisle toun, 

And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we /\^=\ 

cross'd ; k» \ J 

The water was great and meikle of spait, J IL= \ 

But the nevir a horse nor man we lost. 

And when we reached the Staneshaw-bank, 

The wind was rising loud and hie ; 
And there the laird garr'd leave our steeds, 

For fear that they should stamp and nie. 

And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, 

The wind began full loud to blaw ; 
But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, 

When we came beneath the castle wa'. 



We crept on knees, and held our breath, t Zfzl / 

Till we placed the ladders against the wa' ; 1=- -~/= 

And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell f C )4~J 

To mount the first, before us a'. /^\ 

He has ta'en the watchman by the throat, lj= == 

He flung him down upon the lead — fv-^ j 

" Had there not been peace between our land, ^3\ .^> 

Upon the other side thou hadst gaed !— /S^A 

" Now sound out, trumpets !" quo' Buccleuch ; v^HI= / 
" Let's waken Lord Scroop, right merrilie I" 

Then loud the warden's trumpet blew — 
" wha dare meddle wi' me ?" * 

Then speedilie to work we gaed, 

A.nd raised the slogan ane and a', 
And cut a hole thro' a sheet of lead, 

And so we wan to the castle ha'. 



t The name of a border tune. 



I 374 

They thought King James and a' his men 
Had won the house wi' bow and spear ; 
It was but twenty Scots and ten, 
£ v-Aj That put a thousand in sic a stear ! 

| Wi' coulters, and wi' fore-hammers, 
We garr'd the bars bang merrilie, 
Until we cam' to the inner prison, 
p.:.-: ■£ Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie. 

And when we cam' to the lower prison, 
v^l2-4 Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie — 

°00\ " O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, 



I 







Upon the morn that thou's to die ?" 

"01 sleep saft, and I wake aft ; 

It's lang since sleeping was fleyed frae me I 
Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, 

And a' gude fellows that spier for me." 

Then Red Rowan has hente him up, 
The starkest man in Teviotdale — 

" Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, 

Till of my Lord Scroop I take farewell. 

" Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope ! 

My gude Lord Scroope, farewell !" he cried— 
" I'll pay you for my lodging maill, 

When first we meet on the border side." 

Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, 
We bore him down the ladder lang ; 

At every stride Red Rowan made, 

I wot the Kinmont's aims played clang ! 

"O mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, 
" I have ridden horse baith wild and wood ; 

But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, 
I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode. 

"And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, 
" I've pricked a horse out oure the furs ; 

But since the day I backed a steed, 
I never wore sic cumbrous spurs !" 



We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, 

When a' the Carlisle bells were rung, 
And a thousand men, in horse and foot, 
^c C?f Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along. 

if *j\ Buccleuch has turned to Eden water, 
-[Mi__J Even where it flowed frae bank to brim, 

And he has plunged in wi' a' his band, 
And safely swam them thro* the stream. 



He turned him on the other side, 

And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he— 

" If ye like na my visit in merry England, 
In fair Scotland come visit me !" 

All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, 
He stood as still as rock of stane ; 

He scarcely. dai*ed to trew his eyes, 
When thro' the water they had gane, 

" He is either himsell a devil frae hell, 
Or else his mother a witch maun be; 

I wad na have ridden that wan water, 
For a' the gowd in Christentie." 



t^ €m» 



["This ballad, and Jock o' the Side, which 
immediately follows it, were first published, 1784, 
in the Hawick Museum, a provincial miscellany, 
to which they were communicated by John Elliot, 
Esq. of Reidheugh, a gentleman well skilled in 
the antiquities of the western border, and to 
whose friendly assistance the editor is indebted 
for many valuable communications. These bal- 
lads are connected with each other, and appear 
to have been composed ! y the same author. The 
actors seem to have flourished while Thomas 
lord Scroope, of Bolton, was warden of the west 
marches of England, and governor of Carlisle 
castle ; which offices he acquired upon the death 
of his father, about 1590, and retained till the 
union of the crowns. Dick of the Cow, from the 
privileged insolence which he assumes, seems to 
have been lord Scroope's jester. In the prelimi- 
nary dissertation, the reader will find the border 
custom of assuming no?nmes de guerre particu- 
larly noticed. It is exemplified in the following 
ballad, where one Armstrong is called the Laird's 
Jock {i. e. the laird's son Jock), another Fair 
Johnie, a third Billie Willie (brother Willie), &c. 
The Laird's Jock, son to the laird of Mangerton, 
appears, as one of the men of name in Liddesdale, 
in the list of border clans, 1597. Dick of the Cow 
is erroneously supposed to have been the same 
with one Ricardus Coldall, de Plumpton, a knight 
and celebrated warrior, who died in 1462, as ap- 
pears from his epitaph in the church of Penrith. 
— Nicholson's History of Westmoreland and 
Cumberland, vol. ii. p. 408. This ballad is very 






■ 



popular in Liddesdale ; and the recited always^ 
adds, at the conclusion, that poor Dickie's cau- 
tious removal to Burgh under Stanemore did not 
save him from the clutches of the Armstrongs ; 
for that, having fallen into their power several 
years after this exploit, he was put to an inhuman 
death. The ballad was well known in England 
so early as 1596. An allusion to it likewise occurs 
in Parrot's Laquei Ridiculosi, or Springes for 
"Woodcocks ; London, 1613. 

Owenus wondreth since he came to Wales, 
"What the description of this isle should be, 

That nere had seen but mountains, hills, and dales, 
Yet would he boast, and stand on pedigree, 

From Rice ap Richard, sprung from Dick a Cow, 
Be cod, was right gud gentleman, look ye now ! 

Border Minstrelsy.] 

Now Liddesdale has layen lang in, 

There is na ryding there at a' ; 
The horses are a' grown sae lither fat, 

They downa stir out o' the sta'. 

Fair Johnie Armstrang to Willie did say — 

" Billy, a riding we will gae ; 
England and us have been lang at feid ; 

Ablins we'll light on some bootie." 

Then they are come on to Hutton Ha' ; 

They rade that proper place about ; 
But the laird he was the wiser man, 

For he had left nae gear without. 

For he had left nae gear to steal, 

Except sax sheep upon a lee : 
Quo' Johnie — ** I'd rather in England die, 

Ere thir sax sheep gae to Liddesdale wi' me. 

" But how ca' they the man we last met, 
Billie, as we cam owre the know ?" 

" That same he is an innocent fule, 

And men they call him Dick o' the Cow." 

'* That fule has three as good kye o' his ain, 
As there are in a' Cumberland, billie," quo' 
he: 

" Betide me life, betide me death, 

These kye shall go to Liddesdale wi' me." 

Then they have come on to the pure fule's house, 
And they ha'e broken his wa's sae wide ; 

They have loosed out Dick o' the Cow's three 
kye, 
And ta'en three co'erlets frae his wife's bed. 



Then on the morn when the day was light, 
The shouts and cries rase loud and hie : 

" haud thy tongue, my wife," he says, 
" And o' thy crying let me be ! 

" O, had thy tongue, my wife," he says, 

" And o' thy crying let me be ; 
And ay where thou hast lost ae cow, 

In gude suith I shall bring thee three." 

Now Dickie's gane to the gude lord Scroope, 
And I wat a dreirie fule was he ; 

" Now haud thy tongue, my fule," he says, 
"For I may not stand to jest wi' thee." 

" Shame fa' your jesting, my lord '." quo' 
Dickie, 

" For nae sic jesting grees wi' me ; 
Liddesdale's been in my house last night, 

And they ha'e awa' my three kye frae me. 

" But I may nae langer in Cumberland dwell, 
To be your puir fule and your leal, 

Unless you gi'e me leave, my lord 
To gae to Liddesdale and steal." 

" I gi'e thee leave, my fule i" he says ; 

" Thou speakest against my honour and me, 
Unless thou gi'e me thy trowth and thy hand, 

Thou'lt steal frae nane but whae sta' frae 
thee." 

" There is my trowth, and my right hand ! 

My head shall hang on Hairibee ; 
I'll ne'er cross Carlisle sands again, 

If I steal frae a man but whae sta' frae me." 

Dickie's ta'en leave o' lord and master ; 

I wat a merry fule was he ! 
He's bought a bridle and a pair o' new spurs, 

And packed them up in his breek thie. 

Then Dickie's come on to Pudding-burn 
house, * 
E'en as fast as he might drie ; 
Then Dickie's come on to Pudding-burn, 
Where there were thirty Armstrangs and 
three. 















* This was a house of strength, held by the ,\ 
Armstrongs. The ruins at present form a sheep- xrr| 
fold, on the farm of Eeidsmoss, belonging to the 



p Duke of Buccleuch.— Scott. 



^^n " O what's this come o' me now ?" quo' Dickie ; 
\ \^ r °y " What mickle wae is this ?" quo' he ; 

^-^A '* For here is but ae innocent fule, 
/=» (5A And there are thirty Armstrangs and three !" 



I 1 Yet he has come up to the fair ha' board, 
^j Sae weil he's become his courtesie ; 

7\ " Weil may ye be, my gude Laird's Jock ! 
=§ But the de'il bless a' your cumpanie. 

*\ " I'm come to 'plain o' your man, fair Johnie 
\) Arm Strang, 

3 And syne o' his billie Willie," quo' he \ 

5j " How they've been in my house last night, 
f\ And they ha'e ta'en my three kye.frae me." 



i 



(2fy 
HP 



"Hal" quo' fair Johnie Armstrang, " we will 
him hang." 

" Na," quo' Willie, "we'll him slae." 
Then up and spak' another young Armstrang, 

"We'll gae him his batts, * and let him gae." 

But up and spak' the gude Laird's Jock, 
The best falla in a' the cumpanie : 

" Sit down thy ways a little while, Dickie, [ye." 
And a piece o' thy ain cow's hough I'll gi'e 



But Dickie's heart it grew sae grit, 

That the ne'er a bit o't he dought to eat— 
r*/r&f Then he was aware of an auld peat-house, 

Where a* the night he thought for to sleep. 

§=^ Then Dickie was aware of an auld peat-house, 
-- ^3 Where a' the night he thought for to lye — 

^( t And a' the prayers the pure fule prayed 
3gC Were, ' ' I wish I had amends for my gude 

gjH three kye !" 

s-y\ It was then the use of Pudding-burn house, 
xzSn And the house of Mangerton, all hail, 

r"5\ Them that cam' na at the first ca', 
h= ) Cat nae mair meat till the neist meal. 



=^JI| The lads, that hungry and weary were, 
i^v ? Abune the door-head they threw the key ; 

-^~A Dickie he took gude notice o' that, 
==P-^ J Says — " There will be a bootie for me." 

^,/p/l Then Dickie has in to the stable gane, 
v^TS Where there stood thirty horses and three ; 

/"~*J\ He has tied them a wi' St Mary's knot, 
M= J A' these horses but barely three. 



He has tied them a' wi' St Mary's knot, f 
A' these horses but barely three ; 

He's loupen on ane, ta'en another in hand, 
And away as fast as he can hie. 

But on the morn, when the day grew light, 
The shouts and cries raise loud and hie— 

"Ah! whae has done this?" quo' the gude 
Laird's Jock, 
" Tell me the truth and the verity !" 

" Whae has done this deed ?" quo' the gude 
Laird's Jock ; 
" See that to me ye dinna lie !" 
" Dickie has been in the stable last night, 
And has ta'en my brother's horse and mine 
frae me." 

" Ye wad ne'er be tald," quo* the gude Laird's 
Have ye not found my tales fu' leil ? [Jock; 

Ye ne'er wad out o' England bide, 

Till crooked, and blind, and a' would steal." 

" But lend me thy bay," fair Johnie can say ; 

" There's nae horse loose in the stable save 
he; 
And I'll either fetch Dick o' the Cow again, 

Or the day is come that he shall die." 

" To lend thee my bay !" the Laird's Jock can 
say, 

" He's baith worth gowd and gude monie ; 
Dick o' the Cow has awa' twa horse ; 

I wish na thou may make him three." 

He has ta'en the laird's jack on his back, 
A twa-handed sword to hang by his thie ; 

He has ta'en a steil cap on his head, 
And gallopped on to follow Dickie. 

Dickie was na a mile frae aff the town, 
I wat a mile but barely three, 



f Hamstringing a horse is termed, in the bor- 
der dialect, tying him with St Mary's knot. 
Dickie used this cruel expedient to prevent a 
pursuit. It appears from the narration, that 
the horses, left unhurt, belonged to fair Johnie 
Armstrang, his brother Willie, and the Laird's 
Jock, of which Dickie carried off two, and left 
that of the Laird's Jock, probably out of grati- 
tude for the protection he had afforded him on 
his arrival. — Scott. 



BOEDER BALLADS. 



377 



When he was o'erta'en by fair Johnie Arm- 
strong, 
Hand for hand, on Cannobie lee.* 

- = \ " Abide, abide, thou traitour thief ! 

The day is come that thou maun die." 
r^f\- J Then Dickie look't owre his left shoulder, 
f^-r/i Said — " Johnie, hast thou nae mae in cum- 
panie? 

hi?) " There is a preacher in our chapell, 
VJ^/ And a' the live lang day teaches he : 

t) ^o? When day is gane and night is come, 
Q v^ There's ne'er ae word I mark but three. 

Cr=|-aJ *' The first and second is — Faith and Conscience ; 
\~%£l The third — Ne'er let a traitour free : 

2?£j But > Jonnie > what faith and conscience was 
thine, 

When thou took awa' my three kye frae me ? 

) " And when thou had ta'en awa' my three kye, 
Thou thought in thy heart thou wast not 
weil sped, 
Till thou sent thy billie Willie ower the know, 
To tak' thrie coverlets off my wife's bed !" 

Then Johnie let a speir fa' laigh by his thie, 
Thought weil to ha'e slain the innocent, I 
trow ; 

But the powers above were mair than he, 
For he ran but the pure fule's jerkin through. 

Together they ran, or ever they blan ; 

This was Dickie the fule and he ! 
Dickie could na win at him wi' the blade o' the 
sword, 
But fell'd him wi' the plummet under the e'e. 

hus Dickie has fell'd fair Johnie Armstrang, 
The prettiest man in the south country— 
" Gramercy !" then can Dickie say, 

" I had but twa horse, thou hast made me 
thrie !" 

He's ta'en the steil jack aff Johnie's back, 
The twa -handed sword that hang low by his 
thie; 

He's ta'en the steil cap aff his head — 

" Johnie, I'll tell my master I met wi' thee." 



* A rising-ground on Cannobie, on the borders 
, of Liddesdale. — Scott. 



When Johnie wakened out o' his dream, 

I wat a dreirie man was he : 
" And is thou gane ? Now, Dickie, than 

The shame and dule is left wi' me. 

" And is thou gane ? Now, Dickie, than 

The de'il gae in thy cumpanie ! 
For if I should live these hundred years, 

I ne'er shall fight wi' a fule after thee." — 

Then Dickie's come hame to the gude Lord 
Scroope, 

E'en as fast as he might hie; 
" Now, Dickie, I'll neither eat nor drink, 

Till hie hanged thou shalt be." 

"The shame speed the liars, my lord! " quo' 
Dickie ; 

This was na the promise ye made to me I 
For I'd ne'er gane to Liddesdale to steal, 

Had I not got my leave frae thee." 

"But what garr'd thee steal the Laird's Jock's 

horse ? 

And, limmer, what garr'd ye steal him ?" 

quo' he ; 

For lang thou mightst in Cumberland dwelt, 

Ere the Laird's Jock had stown frae thee."f 



is 






m 



f The commendation of the Laird's Jock's hon- 
esty seems but indifferently founded ; for, in July 
15S6, a bill was fouled against him, Dick of Dry- 
up, and others, by the deputy of Bewcastle, at a 
warden-meeting, for 400 head of cattle taken in 
open forray from the Drysike in Bewcastle : and 
in September 15S7, another complaint appears at 
the instance of one Andrew Eutledge of the Nook, 
against the Laird's Jock, and his accomplices, 
for 50 kine and oxen, besides furniture, to the 
amount of 100 merks sterling. See Bell's 3ISS., 
as quoted in the History of Cumberland and 
Westmoreland. In Sir Richard ilaitland's poem 
against the thieves of Liddesdale, ho thus com- 
memorates the Laird's Jock : 

They spuilye puir men of thair pakis, 
They leif them nocht on bed nor bakis; 
Bait'h hen and col-, 
TVith veil and rok, 
The Laird.s Jock 
All with h m takis. 

Those, who plundered Dick, had been bred up yjgp, ] 
under an expert teacher. UPls/ 

Tradition reports, that the Laird's Jock sur- 






" Indeed I wat ye lied, my lord ! 

And e'en sae loud as I hear ye lie ! 
I wan the horse frae fair Johnie Armstrong, 

Hand to hand, on Cannobie lee. 

" There is the jack was on his hack ; 

This twa-handed sword hang laigh by his thie, 
And there's the steil cap was on his head ; 

I brought a' these tokens to let thee see." 

" If that be true thou to me tells, 

(And I think thou dares na tell a lie,) 

I'll gi'e thee fifteen punds for the horse, 
Weil tald on thy cloak lap shall be. 

" I'll gi'e thee ane o' my best milk kye, 
To maintain thy wife and children thrie ; 

And that may be as gude, 1 think, 
As ony twa o' thine wad be." 

"The shame speed the liars, my lord!" quo' 
Dickie j 

" Trow ye aye to make a fule o' me ? 
I'll either ha'e twenty punds for the gude horse, 

Or he's gae to Mortan fair wi' me." 

He's gi'en him twenty punds for the gude horse, 

A' in goud and gude monie ; 
He's gi'en him ane o' his best milk kye, 

To maintain his wife and children thrie. 



'"=:' vived to extreme old age, when he died in the 
following extraordinary manner. A challenge 
f \* ^Tt had been given by an Englishman, named For- 
y^^kJ ster, to any Scottish borderer, to fight him at a 
C-— T \ place called Kershope-foot, exactly upon the 
borders. The Laird's Jock's only son accepted 
the defiance, and was armed by his father with 
his own two-handed sword. The old champion 
_rr^3 himself, though bed ridden, insisted upon being 
f(*S\ present at the battle. He was borne to the place 
<&p^_J appointed, wrapped, it is said, in blankets, and 
-~. placed upon a very high stone to witness the 

?\ =3 conflict. In the duel his son fell, treacherously 
Vs^O slain, as the Scotch tradition affirms. The old 
man gave a loud yell of terror and despair when 
he saw his son slain and his noble weapon won 
y. by an Englishman, and died as they bore him 
V, 0) home. A venerable border poet (though of these 
5 V^"3 later days) has composed a poem on this roman- 
tic incident. The stone on which the Laird's 
J Jock sat to behold the duel, was in existence till 
wantonly destroyed a year or two since. It was 
always called " The Laird's Jock's Stone."— Scott. 



Then Dickie's come down thro' Carlisle toun, /il 

E'en as fast as he could drie ; 
The first o' men that he met wi', 

Was my lord's brother, bailiff Glozenburrie. (/cL)"* 

" Weil be ye met, my gude Ralph Scroope !" 

" Welcome, my brother's fule !" quo' he : v-^ 

" Where didst thou get fair Johnie Armstrong's /n^?S 

horse ?" !=■ ^^ 

" Where did I get him ? but steal him, ^§i 
quo' he. 

" But wilt thou sell me the bonnie horse ? 

And, billie, wilt thou sell him to me ?" quo* U&^s 
he : [lap : /tlL~H 

" Ay ; if thou'lt tell me the monie on my cloak 

For there's never ae penny I'll trust thee." 

"I'll gi'e thee ten punds for the gude horse, 

Weil tald on thy cloak lap they shall be ; Flpflp 

And I'll gi'e thee ane o' the best milk kye, /rH 

To maintain thy wife and children thrie." ( J~jM 

" The shame speid the liars, my lord !" quo' /U^ 

Trow ye aye to mak' a fule o' me ! [Dickie ; L/cv^ 

I'll either ha'e twenty punds for the gude horse, v- — «J 
Or he's gae to Mortan fair wi' me." 

He's gi'en him twenty punds for the gude horse, 

Baith in goud and gude monie ; 
He's gi'en him ane o' his best milk kye, 

To maintain his wife and children thrie. V |L 

Then Dickie lap a loup fu' hie, 

And I wat a loud laugh laughed he — 
" I wish the neck o' the third horse were 

broken, 
If ony of the twa were better than he I" 

Then Dickie's come hame to his wife again ; 

Judge ye how the poor fule had sped ! 
He has gi'en her twa score English punds, 

For the thrie auld coverlets ta'en aff her bed. 

" And tak' thee these twa as gude kye, 

I trow, as a* thy thrie might be ; 
And yet here is a white-footed nagie, 

I trow he'll carry baith thee and me. 

" But I may nae Ianger in Cumberland bide ; 

The Armstrongs they would hang me hie." f^ 
So Dickie's ta'en leave at lord and master, \J 

And at Burgh under Stanmuir there dwells 
he. 






(S 










m 



BORDER BALLADS. 



379 



[" The subject of this ballad," says Sir Walter 
Scott," being a common event in those trouble- 
some and disorderly times, became a favourite 
theme of the ballad-makers. Jock o' the Side 
seems to have been nephew to the laird of Man- 
gertoun, cousin to the Laird's Jock, one of his 
deliverers, and probably brother to Chrystie of 
the Syde, mentioned in the list of border clans, 
1597. Like the Laird's Jock, he also is com- 
memorated by Sir Richard Maitland. — See the 
Introduction. 

He is weilkend, Johne of the Syde, 
A greater thief did never ryde ; 
He never tyris, 
For to brek bvris, 
Our muir and myris 
Ouirgude ane guide. 

Jock o' the Side appears to have assisted the 
earl of Westmoreland in his escape after his un- 
fortunate insurrection with the earl of Northum- 
berland, in the twelfth year of Elizabeth. " The 
two rebellious rebels went into Liddesdale in 
Scotland, yesternight, where Martin Ellwood 
(Elliot) and others, that have given pledges to 
the regent of Scotland, did raise their forces 
against them ; being conducted by black Ormes- 
ton, an outlaw of Scotland, that was a principal 
murtherer of the king of Scots, where the fight 
was offered, and both parties alighted from their 
horses ; and, in the end, Ellwood said to Ormes- 
ton, he would be sorry to enter deadly feud with 
him by bloodshed ; but he would charge him and 
the rest before the regent for keeping of the 
rebels ; and if he did not put them out of the 
country, the next day, he would doe his worst 
again them; whereupon, the two earls were 
driven to leave Liddesdale, and to fly to one of 
the Armstrongs, a Scot upon the batable (de- 
bateable land) on the borders between Liddes- 
dale and England. The same day the Liddesdale 
men stole the horses of the countess of North- 
umberland, and of her two women, and ten 
others of their company; so as, the earls being 
gone, the lady of Northumberland was left there 
on foot, at John of the Side's house, a cottage 
not to be compared to many a dog-kennel in 
England. At their departing from her, they 
went not above fifty horse, and the earl of West- 



moreland, to be the more unknown, changed his 
coat of plate and sword with John of the Side, 
and departed like a Scottish borderer." — Adver- 
tisements from Hexham, 22d December, 1569, in 
the Cabala, p. 160. 

The land-serjeant, mentioned in this ballad, 
and also that of Hobbie Noble, was an officer 
under the warden, to whom was committed the 
apprehending of delinquents, and the care of the 
public peace."] 

Now Liddesdale has ridden a raid, 

But I wat they had better ha'e staid at 
hame; 

For Michael o* Winfield he is dead, 

And Jock o' the Side is prisoner ta'en. 

For Mangerton house Lady Downie has gane, 
Her coats she has kilted up to her knee ; 

And down the water wi' speed she rins, 
While tears in spaits fa' fast frae her e'e. 

Then up and spoke our gude auld lord — 

" What news, what news, sister Downie, to 
me ?" 
" Bad news, bad news, my Lord Mangerton ; 
Michael is killed, and they ha'e ta'en my son 
Johnie." 

"Ne'er fear, sister Downie," quo' Mangerton; 

" I have yokes of ousen, eighty and three ; 
My barns, my byres, and my fauldsa' weil fill'd, 

I'll part wi' them a' ere Johnie shall die. 

" Three men I'll send to set him free, 
A' harneist wi' the best o' steil ; 

The English louns may hear, and drie 
The weight o' their braid -swords to feel. 

" The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa, 
O Hobbie Noble, thou ane maun be ! 

Thy coat is blue, thou hast been true, 
Since England banish'd thee to me." 

Now Hobbie was an English man, 

In Bewcastle dale was bred and born : 

But his misdeeds they were sae great, 
They banish'd him ne'er to return. 

Lord Mangerton them orders gave, 

"Your horses the wrang way maun bo 
shod ; 

Like gentlemen ye mauna seim, 

But look like corn-caugers ga'en the road. 









fgMRf 











[\ " Your armour gude ye mauna shaw, 

fy Nor yet appear like men o' weir ; 

^ As country lads be a' array'd, 

$m Wi' branks and brecham on each mare." 

I j Sae now their horses are the wrang way shod, 
"fv And Hobbie has mounted his grey sae fine ; 

P\ Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse 
behind, 
And on they rode for the water of Tyne. 



At the Cholerford they all light down, [moon, 
And there, wi' the help of the light o' the 

A tree they cut, wi' fifteen nogs on each side, 
To climb up the wa' of Newcastle toun. 

But when they came to Newcastle toun, 

And were alighted at the wa', 
They fand their tree three ells ower laigh, 

They fand their stick baith short and sma'. 

Then up and gpak' the Laird's ain Jock ; 

" There's naething for't; the gates we maun 
But when they cam' the gate untill, [force." 

A proud porter withstood baith men and 
horse. 

His neck in twa the Armstrangs wrang ; 

Wi' fute or hand he ne'er play'd pa ! 
His life and his keys at anes they ha'e ta'en, 

And cast the body ahind the wa'. 



\^ ~Lj Now sune tne y reach Newcastle jail, 
Pp- -^ And to the prisoner thus they call ; 

W^CJ " Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the Side, 
f_Aw\ Or art thou weary of thy thrall ?" 

= -es j Jock answers thus, wi' dulefu* tone ; 
? /~v~f " Aft, aft, I wake — I seldom sleep : 

<T)/C^o But whae's this kens my name sae weil, 
fT*S\ And tnus t0 rnese* my waes does seik ?" 

\ C^=-> Then out and spak' the gude Laird's Jock, 
5^ iil " Now fear ye na, my billie," quo' he ; 

Vg^sJ "For here are the Laird's Jock, the Laird's 

Gp-a^ Watj 

gs^J j And Hobbie Noble, come to set thee free." 

K={?/) " Now haud thy tongue, my gude Laird's Jock, 
*> ^3 For ever, alas ! this canna be ; 

fiT^JS For if a' Liddesdale were here the night, 
( J==y The morn's the day that I maun die. 

* Mese — Soothe. i 



" Full fifteen stane o' Spanish iron, 
They ha'e laid a' right sair on me ; 

Wi' locks and keys I am fast bound 
Into this dungeon dark and dreirie." 

" Fear ye na' that," quo' the Laird's Jock 
"A faint heart ne'er wan a fair ladie ; 

Work thou within, we'll work without, 
And I'll be sworn we'll set thee free." 

The first strong door that they cam' at, 

They loosed it without a key ; 
The next chain'd door that they cam' at, 

They garr'd it a' to flinders flee. 

The prisoner now upon his back, 

The Laird's Jock has gotten up fu' hie; 

And down the stairs, him, aims and a' 
Wi' nae sma' speid and joy, brings he. 

"Now, Jock, my man," quo' Hobbie Noble, 
" Some o' his weight ye may lay on me. 

" I wat weil no !" quo' the Laird's ain Jock, 
"I count him lighter than a flee." 

Sae out at the gates they a' are gane, 
The prisoner's set on horseback hie ; 

And now wi' speid they've ta'en the gate, 
While ilk ane jokes fu' wantonlie : 

" Jock ! sae winsomely's ye ride, 
Wi' baith your feet upon ae side ; 

Sae weel ye're harniest, and sae trig, 
In troth ye sit like ony bride J" 

The night, tho' wat, they did na mind, 

But hied them on fu' merrilie, 
Until they cam' to Cholerford brae,* 

Where the water ran like mountains hie. 

But when they cam' to Cholerford, 
There they met with an auld man ; 

Says — " Honest man, will the water ride ? 
Tell us in haste, if that ye can." 

"I wat weel no," quo' the gude auld man ; 

" I ha'e lived here thretty years and thrie, 
And I ne'er yet saw the Tyne sae big, 

Nor running anes sae like a sea." 



* Cholerford brae— A. ford upon the Tyne, above | 
Hexham. Uff 



rORDEK BALLADs. 



381 n 



m 






Then out and spoke the Laird'3 saft Wat, 
The greatest coward in the cumpanie ; 

" Now halt, now halt I we need na try't ; 
The day is come we a' maun die !" 

" Puir faint-hearted thief !" cried the Laird'3 
ain Jock, 

" There'l nae man die but him that's fie ; * 
I'll guide ye a' right safely thro' ; 

Lift ye the pris'ner on ahint me." 

Wi' that the water they ha'e ta'en, 

By ane's and twa's they a' swam thro' ; 

" Here are we a' safe," quo' the Laird's Jock, 
" And, purr faint Wat, what think ye now ?" 

They scarce the other brae had won, 
When twenty men they saw pursue ; 

Frae Newcastle toun they had been sent, 
A' English Lads baith stout and true. 

But when the iand-serjeant the water saw, 
"It winna ride, my lads," says he; 

Then cried aloud — "'The prisoner take, 
But leave the fetters, I pray, to me." 

" I wat weil no," quo' the Laird's Jock ; 

" I'll keep them a' ; shoon to my mare they'll 
be, 
My eude bay mare — for I am sure, 

She has bought them a' right dear frae thee," 

Sae now they are on to Liddesdale, 
E'en as fast as they could them hie ; 

The prisoner is brought to's ain fire-side, 
And there o's aims they mak' him free. 

"Xoiv, Jock, my billie," quo' a' the three, 
•' The day is eom'd thou was to die ; 

But thou's as well at thy ain ingie side, 
Now sitting, I think, 'twixt thee and me." 









[** We have seen," says Sir Walter," the hero 
of this ballad act a distinguished part in the 
deliverance of Jock o' the Side, and are now to 
It arn the ungrateful return which the Arm- 



1 Fie— Predestined. 



■ strongs made him for his faithful services, f 
Halbert, or Hobbie Noble, appears to have been 
one of those numerous English outlaws, who, 
being forced to fly their own country, had estab- 
lished themselves on the Scottish borders. Ag 
Hobbie continued his depredations upon the 
English, they bribed some of his hosts, the Arm- 
strongs, to decoy him into England, under pre- 
tence of a predatory expedition. He was there 
delivered, by his treacherous companions, into 
the hands of the officers of justice, by whom he 
was conducted to Carlisle, and executed next 
morning. The laird of Mangerton, with whom 
Hobbie was in high favour, is said to have taken 
a severe revenge upon the traitors who betrayed 
him. The principal contriver of the scheme, 
called here Sim o' the Maynes, fled into England 
from the resentment of his chief; but experi- 
enced there the common fate of a traitor, being 
himself executed at Carlisle, about two months 
after Hobbie's death. Such is, at least, the tra- 
diti ] n of Liddesdale. Sim o' the Maynes appears 
among the Armstrongs of Whitauch, in Liddes- 
dale, in the list of clans so often alluded to. 
Kershope-burn, where Hobbie met his trea- 



! f Tne original editor of the Reliques of Ancient 
I Poetry has noticed the perfidy of this clan in another 
instance : the delivery of the banished earl oi" >"or;h- 
umberland into the hands of the Scottish regent, by 
Hec:or of Hare aw, an Armstrong, with whom he had 
taken refuge.— Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. L p. 
283. — This Hector of Harelaw seems to have been an 
Englishman, or under English assurance; for he is 
one of those asainsc whom bills were exhibited by the 
Scottish commissioners, to the lord-bishop of Carlisle. 
— Introduction to the History of Westmoreland and 
Cumberland, p. 81. In the "list of borderers, 1597, 
Hector of Harelaw, with the Griefs and Cuts of Hare- 
law, also figures as an inhabitant of the Debateabie 
Land. It would appear, from a spirited invective in 
the Maitland MS. against the regent, aDd those who 
delivered up the unfortunate earl to Elizabeth, that 
Hector had been guilty of this treachery, to redeem 
the pledge which had been exacted from him for his 
peaceable demeanour. The poet says, that the perfidy 
of Morton and Lochlevin was worse than even that 
of— 



r Eckie of Harelaw, 
That says he sould him to redeem his pledge; 
Tour deed is war, as all the world does know — 
You nothing can but covatice alledge. 

Pinkerton's Maitland Poems, vol. i. p. 290. 






r§jk 



Eckie is the contraction of Hector among the 
vul-ar. 

These little memoranda may serve still farther to 
illustrate the beautiful ballads, upon that subject, 
^published in the Reliques. 



fejd! 




cherous companions, falls into the Liddel, from 
the English side, at a place called Turnersholm, 
where, according to tradition, tourneys and 
games of chivalry were often solemnized. The 
Mains was anciently a border-keep, near Castle- 
toun, on the north side of the Liddel, but is now 
totally demolished. 

Askerton is an old castle, now ruinous, situated 
in the wilds of Cumberland, about seventeen 
miles north-east of Carlisle, amidst that moun- 
tainous and desolate tract of country bordering 
upon Liddesdale, emphatically termed the Waste 
of Bewcastle. Conscoutbart Green, and Roderic- 
haugh, and the Foulbogshiel, are the names of 
places in the same wilds, through which the 
Scottish plunderers generally made their raids 
upon England; as appears from the following 
passage in a letter from William, lord Dacre, to 
cardinal Wolsey, 18th July, 1528 ; Appendix to 
Pinkerton's Scotland, v. 12, No. xix. "Like it 
also your grace, seeing the disordour within 
Scotlaund, and that all the mysguyded men, 
borderers of the same, inhabiting within Eskdale, 
Ewsdale, Walghopedale, Liddesdale, and a part 
of Tividale, foranempt Bewcastelldale, and a 
part of the middle marches of this the king's 
bordours, entres not this west and middle 
marches, to do any attemptate to the king our 
said soveraine's subjects : but thaye come thorow 
Bewcastelldale, and retornes, for the most part, 
the same waye agayne." 

Willeva and Speir Edom are small districts in 
Bewcastledale, through which also the Hartlie- 
burn takes its course. 

Of the castle of Mangertoune, so often men- 
tioned in these ballads, there are very few ves- 
tiges. It was situated on the banks of the 
Liddel, below Casteltoun. In the wall of a 
neighbouring mill, which has been entirely built 
from the ruins of the tower, there is a remarka- 
ble stone, bearing the arms of the lairds of 
Mangertoun, and a long broad-sword, with the 
figures 1583 ; probably the date of building, or 
repairing, the castle. On each side of the shield 
are the letters S. A. and E. E., standing proba- 
bly for Simon Armstrong, and Elizabeth Elliot. 
Such is the only memorial of the laird of Man- 
gertoun, except those rude ballads, which the 
editor now offers to the public] 

Foui- fa' the breast first treason bred in ! 

That Liddesdale may safely say : 
For in it there was baith meat and drink, 

And corn unto our geldings gay. 



And we were a' stout-hearted men, 
As England she might often say ; 

But now we may turn our backs and flee, 
Since brave Noble is sold away. 

Now Hobbie was an English man, 

And born into Bewcastle dale ; 
But his misdeeds they were so great, 

They banish'd him to Liddesdale. 

At Kershope foot the tryst was set, 

Kershope of the lilye lee ; 
And there was traitor Sim o' the Mains, 

And with him a private companie. 

Then Hobbie has graithed his body fair, 
Baith wi' the iron and wi' the steil; 

And he has ta'en out his fringed grey, 

And there, brave Hobbie, he rade him weel. 

Then Hobbie is down the water gane, 

E'en as fast as he could hie ; [hearts, 

Tho' a' should ha'e bursten and broken their 
Frae that riding tryst he wad na be. 

" Weel be ye met, my feres * five ! 

And now, what is your will wi' me ?" 
Then they cried a', wi' ae consent, 

" Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me. 

" Wilt thou with us into England ride, 
And thy safe warrand we will be ? 

If we get a horse, worth a hundred pound, 
Upon his back thou sune sail be." 

" I dare not by day into England ride ; 

The land-serjeant has me at feid : 
And I know net what evil may betide, 

For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead. 

" And Anton Shiel he loves not me, 
For I gat twa drifts o' his sheep ; 

The great earl of Whitfield \ loves me not, 
For nae geer frae me he e'er could keep. 

" But will ye stay till the day gae down, 
Untill the night come o'er the grund, 

And I'll be a guide worth ony twa, 
That may in Liddesdale be found ? 

* Feres — Companions. 

t Earl of Whitfield — The editor does not know 
who is here meant. It should perhaps be Ralph 
Whitfield.— Scott. 






" Though the night be black as pick and tar, 
I'll guide ye o'er yon hill sae hie 

A nd bring ye a' in safety back, 
If ye'U be true, and follow me." 

He has guided them o'er moss and muir, 
O'er hill and hope, and mony a down; 

Until they came to the Foulbogshiel, 

And there, brave Xoble, he lighted down. 

But word is gane to the land-serjeant, 
In Askerton where that he lay — 

" The deer, that ye ha'e hunted sae lang, 
Is seen into the Waste this day." 

" Then Hobbie Xoble is that deer ! 

I wat he carries the style fu' hie ; 
Aft has he driven our bluidhounds back,* 

And set ourselves at little lee. 

" Gar warn the bows of Hartlie burn ; 

See they sharp their arrows on the wa' : 
Warn Willeva and Speir Edom, 

And see the morn they meet me a'. 

" G-ar meet me on the Rodric-haugh, 

And see it be by break o' day ; 
And we will on to Conscouthart-green, 

For there, I think, we'll get our prey." 



" The russet bloodhound, wont, near Annand's 



Our ancient statutes inform us, that the blood- 
hound, or sluith-hound (so called from its quality 
of tracing the slot, or track, of meu and animals), 
was early used in the pursuit and detection of 
marauders. NuUus perturbet, aut impediat canem 
trassantem, aut homines trassantes cum ipso, ad 
sequendum latrones. — Regiam Majestatem, lib. 
4tus, cap. 32. And, so late as 1616, there was an 
order from the king's commissioners of the 
northern counties, that a certain number of 
slough-hounds should be maintained in every 
district of Cumberland, bordering upon Scotland. 
They were of great value, being sometimes sold 
for a hundred crowns. — Exposition of Bleau's 
Atlas, voce Zs'ithsdale. The breed of this saga- 
cious animal, which could trace the human foot- 
step with the most unerring accuracy, is now 
nearly extinct. — Scott. 



& Then Hobbie Xoble has dreimit a dreim, 
In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay; 
He dreimit his horse was aneith him shot, 
And he himself got hard away. 

The cocks could craw, the day could daw, 
And 1 wot sae even fell down the rain ; 

Had Hobbie na wakened at that time, 

In the Foulbogshiel he had been ta'en or 
slain. 

" Awake, awake, my feres five ! 

I true here makes a fu' ill day ; 
Yet the worst cloak o' this company, 

I hope, shall cross the Waste this day." 

Now Hobbie thought the gates were cltiar 

But, ever alas ! it was na sae : 
They were beset by cruel men and keen, 

That away brave Hobbie might na gae. 

" Yet follow me, my feres five, 

And see ye keip of me guid ray ; 
And the worst cloak o' this company 

Even yet may cross the Waste this day." 

But the land-serjeant's men came Hobbie 
before, 

The traitor Sim came Hobbie behin', 
So had Noble been wight as Wallace was, 

Away, alas ! he might na win. 

Then Hobbie had but a laddie's sword ; 

But he did mair than a laddie's deed ; 
For that sword had cleared Conscouthart green, 

Had it not broke o'er Jerswisrham's head. 

J 
Then they ha'e ta'en brave Hobbie Noble, 

Wi's ain bowstring they band him sae ; 
But his gentle heart was ne'er sae sair, 

As when his ain five bound him on the brae. 

They ha'e ta'en him on for west Carlisle ; 

They asked him, if he kend the way ? 
Tho' much he thought, yet little he said ; 

He knew the gate as weel as they. 




They ha'e ta'en him up the Eicker-gate ; f 
The wives they cast their windows wide ; 

And every wife to another can say, 

" That's the man loosed Jock o' the Side i" 



f A stieet in Carlisle. 



r/Q 



Ctf 



" Fy on ye, women ! why ca' ye me man ? 

For it's nae man that I'm used like ; 
I am but like a forfoughen * hound, 

Has been fighting in a dirty syke." f 

They ha'e had him up thro' Carlisle town, 
And set him by the chimney fire ; 

They gave brave Noble a loaf to eat, 
And that was little his desire. 

They gave him a wheaten loaf to eat, 

And after that a can of beer ; 
And they a' cried, with one consent, 

" Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheir ! 

" Confess my lord's horse, Hobbie," they said, 
" And to-morrow in Carlisle thou's na die." 

" How can I confess them," Hobbie says, 
" When I never saw them with my e'e ?" 

Then Hobbie has sworn a fu' great aith, 
Bi the day that he was gotten and born, 

He never had ony thing o' my lord's, 
That either eat him grass or corn. 

" Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton ! 

For I think again I'll ne'er thee see : 
I wad ha'e betrayed nae lad alive, 

For a' the gowd o' Christentie. 

" And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale ! 

Baith the hie land and the law ; 
Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains ! 

For goud and gear he'll sell ye a'. 

" Yet wad 1 rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble, 
In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fau't, 

Than I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains, 

That eats and drinks o' the meal and maut.' 



[This is a bishoprick border song, composed in 
1569, taken down from the chanting of George 
Collingwood the elder, late of Boltsburn, in the 
neighbourhood of Eyhope, who was interred at 
Stanhope, the 16th December, 1785. 



* Forfoughen— Quite fatigued. 
| Syke— Ditch. 



Rookhope is the name of a valley about five 
miles in length ; at the termination of which, 
Rookhope-burn empties itself into the river Wear: 
the dale lies in the north part of the parish of 
Stanhope, in Weardale. Rookhope-head is the 
top of the vale. The ballad derives some addi- 
tional interest, from the date of the event being 
so precisely ascertained to be the 6th December, 
1572, when the Tynedale robbers, taking advan- 
tage of the public confusion occasioned by the 
rebellion of Westmoreland and Northumberland, 
and which particularly affected the bishoprick of 
Durham, determined to make this foray into 
Weardale. The late eminent antiquary, Joseph 
Ritson, took down this ballad from the mouth of 
the reciter, and printed it as part of an intended 
collection of border ballads, which was never 
published. His nephew, Mr Frank, was so good 
as to favour me with the copy from which it is 
here given. To the illustration of Mr Ritson, I 
have been enabled to add those of my friend Mr 
Sur tees.— Scott.] 

Rookhope stands in a pleasant place, 
If the false thieves wad let it be, 

But away they steal our goods apace, 
And ever an ill death may they dee ! 

And so is the man of Thirlwall and Willie- 
haver, $ 

And all their companies thereabout, 
That is minded to do mischief, 

And at their stealing stands not out. 



$ Thirlwall, or Thirlitwall, is said by Fordun, 
the Scottish historian, to be a name given to the 
Picts' or Roman wall, fiom its having been 
thirled, or perforated, in ancient times, by the 
Scots and Picts. Wyntown also, who most pro- 
bably copied Fordun, calls it Thirlwall. Thirl- 
wall-castle, though in a very ruinous condition, 
is still standing by the site of this famous wall, 
upon the river Tippal. It gave name to the 
ancient family, De Thirlwall. Willie-haver, or 
Willeva, is a small district or township in the 
parish of Lanevcogt, near Bewcastledale, in Cum- 
berland, mentioned in the preceding ballad of 
Hobbie Noble ; 



" Gar warn the bows of Hartilie-burn, 
See they sharp their arrows on the wa' ; 

Warn Willeva, and Spear Edom, 
And see the morn they meet me a 5 ." 



But yet we will not slander them all, 
For there is of them good enough ; 

It is a sore consumed tree 

That on it bears not one fresh bough. 

Lord God ! is not this a pitiful case, 

That men dare not drive their goods to the 
fell, 

But limmer thieves drives them away, 
That fears neither heaven nor hell. 

Lord, send us peace into the realm, 
That every man may live on his own ! 

I trust to God, if it be his will, 

That Weardale men may never be over- 
thrown. 

For great troubles they've had in hand, 

With borderers pricking hither and thither, 

But the greatest fray that e'er they had, 

Was with the men of Thirlwall and Willie- 
haver. 

They gather'd together so royally, 

The stoutest men and the best in gear ; 

A nd he that rade not on a horse, 
1 wat he rade on a weil-fed mear. 

So in the morning, before they came out, 
So weel I wot they broke their fast ; 

In the forenoon they came unto a bye fell, 
Where some of them did eat their last. * 

When they had eaten aye and done, 

They say'd, some captains here needs must be : 
Then they choosed forth Harry Corbyl, 

And " Symon Fell," and Martin Ridley- 
Then o'er the moss, where as they came, 

With many a brank and whew, 
One of them could to another say, 

" I think this day we are men enew. 

" For Weardale-men have a journey ta 'en, 

They are so far out o'er yon fell, 
That some of them's with the two earls, f 

And others fast in Bernard castell. 



* This would be about eleven o'clock, the usual 
dinner-hour in that period. — Scott. 

f The two earls were Thomas Percy, earl of 
Northumberland, and Charles Nevil, earl of 
Westmoreland, who, on the loth of November, 



"There we shall get gear enough, 

For there is nane but women at hame ; 

The sorrowful fend that they can make, 
Is loudly cries i. as they were slain." 

Then in at Rookhope-head they came, 

And there they thought tul a' had their pr,?y, 

But they were spy'd coming over the Dry-rig, 
Soon upon Saint Nicholas' day. § 

Then in at Rookhope-head they came, 

They ran the forest but a mile ; 
They gather'd together in four hours 

Six hundred sheep within a while. 

And horses I trow they gat, 

But either ane or twa, 
And they gat them all but ane 

That belanged to great Rowley. 

That Rowley was the first man that did them 

spy, 

With that he raised a mighty cry ; 
The cry it came down Rookhope-burn, 
And spread through Weardale hasteyly. 

Then word came to the bailifs house 

At the East-gate, where he did dwell ; || 






1569, at the head of their tenantry and others, 
took arms for the purpose of liberating Mary, 
queen of Scots, and restoring the old religion. 
They besieged Bernard -castle, which was, for 
eleven days, stoutly defended by Sir George 
Bowes, who, afterward, being appointed the 
queen's marshal, hanged the poor constables and 
peasantry by dozens in a day, to the amount of 
800. The earl of Northumberland, betrayed by 
the Scots, with whom he had taken refuge, was 
beheaded at York, on the 22d of August, 1572; 
and the earl of Westmoreland, deprived of the 
ancient and noble patrimony of the Nevils, and 
reduced to beggary, escaped over sea, into Flan- 
ders, and died in misery and disgrace, being the 
last of his family. See two ballads on this sub- 
ject, in Percy's Collection, (i. 271, 281), and con- 
sider whether they be genuine. — Ritso?i. — Scott. 

| This is still the phraseology of Westmoreland; 
a poorly man, a softly day, and the like.— Scott. 

§ The 6th of December. 

|| Now a straggling village so called ; originally, 
it would seem, the gate-house, or ranger's lodge, 
at the east entrance of Stanhope-park. A t some 



1 



386 



He was walk'd out to the Smale-burns, < 

Which stands above the Hanging-well. - 

His wife was wae when she heard tell, 

So well she wist her husband wanted gear ; 

She gar'd saddle him his horse in haste, 

And neither forget sword, jack, f nor spear. 

The bailif got wit before his gear came, 

That such news was in the land, 
He was sore troubled in his heart, 

That on no earth that he could stand. 

distance from this place is West-gate, so called 
for a similar reason. — Ritson. 

" Tha mention of the bailif's house at the East- 
gate is (were such a proof wanting) strongly 
indicative of the authenticity of the ballad. The 
family of Emerson of East-gath, a fief, if I may 
so call it, held under the bishop, long exercised 
the office of bailiff of Wolsingham, the chief town 
and borough of Weardale, and of Forster, &c, 
under successive prelates; and the present bi- 
shop's gamekeeper and ranger within Weardale, 
may be said to claim his office by maternal 
descent, being Emerson Muschamp (another 
ancient name) and, though somewhat shorn of 
his beams, the lineal heir of the old bailiffs of 
Weardale. 

" Rob. Erne; son Parcarius de Stanhoppl3 Aug. 
7 Rob. Nevill Epi. 

" Cuthb. Emerson de Eastgat sub Forestar. 
Parci de Stan hop p 1 Wolsey. 

" Lease of the East-gate to Mr George Emerson 
for 30 years, 10/. p. arin. 4. Ed. C. Bp. Tunstall. 

"Rob. Emerson de Eastgat. sede vacante p. 
depriv. Tunstall parcar. Dne Regine. 

" Geo. et Ric. Emerson Ballivi de Wolsingham 
p. palens. 12 Sept. 1616, sicut Geo. Rolli vel 
Rollands Emerson . olim tenuere." — Surtees. — 
Scott. 

* A place in the neighbourhood of East-gate, 
known at present, as well as the Dry-rig, or 
It'male-burns ; being the property of Mr Robert 
Richardson, by inheritance, since before 1583. — 
Ritson. — Scott. 

t A jacket, or short coat, plated or instiched 
with small pieces of iron, and usually worn by 
the peasantry of the border in their journeys 
from place to place, as well as in their occasional 
skirmishes with the moss troopers, who were 
most probably equipped with the same sort of 
—Ritson. — Scott. 



His brother was hurt three days before, 

With limmer thieves that did hirn prick ; 

"Nineteen bloody wounds lay him upon, 
What ferly wast that he lay sick ? 

But yet the bailif shrinked nought, 

But fast after them he did hye. 
And so did all his neighbours near, 

That went to bear him company. 

But when the bailif was gathered, 

And all his company, 
They were number'd to never a man 

But forty under fifty. 

The thieves was numbered a hundred men, 
1 wat they were not of the worst ; 

That could be choosed out of Thirlwall anl 
Willie-haver 
I trow they were the very first. ^ 

But all that was in Rookhope-head, 
And all that was i' Nuketon-cleugh, 

Where Weardale-men o'ertook the thieves, 
And there they gave them fighting eneugh. 

So sore they made them fain to flee, 

As many was a' out of hand, 
And, for tul have been at home again, 

They would havs been in iron bands. 

And for the space of long seven years 
As sore they mighten a' had their lives, 

But there was never one of them 

That ever thought to have seen their wives. 

About the time the fray began, 

1 trow it lasted but an hour, 
Till many a man lay weaponless, 

And was sore wounded in that stour. 

Also before that hour was done, 

Four of the thieves were slain, 
Besides all those that wounded were, 

And eleven prisoners there was ta'en. 

George Carrick, and his brother Edie, 
Them two, I wot, they were both slain : 

Harry Co byi, and Lennie Carrick, 
Bore them company in their pain. 

$ The reciter, from his advanced age, could 
not recollect the original line thus imperfectly 
supplied. — Ritson. — Scott. 









BORDER BALLADS. 



38? 



One of our Weardale-men was slain, 
Rowland Emerson his name hight ; 

I trust to God his soul is well, 

Because he fought unto the right. 

But thus they say'd, We'll not depart 

While we have one : — Speed hack again ! 

And when they came amongst the dead men, 
There they found G-eorge Carrick slain. 

And when they found G-eorge Carrick slain, 
I wot it went well near their heart ; 

Lord let them never make a better end, 
That comes to play them sicken a part. 

I trust to God, no more they shall, 
Except it be one for a great chance ; 

For God will punish all those 
With a great heavy pestilence. 

Thir limmer thieves, they have good hearts, 
They never think to be o'erthrown , 

Three banners against Wear-dale men they bare 
As if the world had been all their own. 

Thir Weardale-men, they have good hearts. 

They are as stiff as any tree ; 
For, if they'd every one been slain, 

Never a foot back man would flee. 

And such a storm amongst them fell, 
As I think you never heard the like ,• 

For he that bears his head so high, 
He oft-times falls into the dyke. 

And now I do entreat you all, 

As many as are present here, 
To pray for the singer of this song, 

For he sings to make blithe your cheer. 



[Ca'field, orCalfield, is a place in Wauchopdale, 
belonging of old to the Armstrongs. In tbeaecount 
betwixt the English and Scottish marches, Jock 
and Geordie of Ca'field, there called Calfhill, are 
repeatedly marked as delinquents.— History of 
Westmoreland and Cumberland, vol. i. Introduction, 
p. 33. "Mettled John Hall, from the laigh Tiviot- 
dale," is perhaps John Hall of Xew Digging, men- 
tioned in the list of border clans, as one of the 
chief men of name residing on the middle marches 
in 1597.— Scott.] 



As I was a walking mine alane, 
It was by the dawning of the day, 

I heard twa brithers make their mane, 
And I listened weel to what they did say. 

The youngest to the elder said, 

"Blythe and merrie how can we be ? 

There were three brithren of us born, 
And ane of us is condemned to die." 






"An' ye wad be merrie, an' ye wad be sad, 
What the better wad billie Archie be •> 

Unless I had thirty men to mysell, 
And a' to ride in my cumpanie. 

" Ten to hald the horses' heads, 

And other ten the watch to be, 
And ten to break up the strong prison, 

Where billy Archie * he does lie." 

Then up and spak' him mettled John Hall, 
(The luve of Teviotdale aye was he) 

"An' I had eleven men to mysell, 
It's aye the twalt man I wad be." 

Then up bespak' him coarse Ca'field, 
(I wot and little gude worth was he) 

" Thirty men is few anew, 

And a' to ride in our cumpanie." 

There was horsing, horsing in haste, 
And there was marching on the lee ; 

Until they cam' to Mun ay whate, 

And they lighted there right speedilie. 

"A smith ! a smith !" Dickie he cries, 
" A smith, a smith, right speedilie, 

To turn back the caukers of our horses' shoon ! 
For it's unkensome f we wad be." 

" There lives a smith on the water side, 
Will shoe my little black mare for me ; 

And I've a crown in my pocket, 
And every groat of it I wad gi'e." 

•' The night is mirk, and it's very mirk, 
And by candle light I canna weel see; 

The night is mirk, and it's very pit mirk, 
And there will never a nail ca' right for me.* 



* Billy— Brother, 

t Unkeiisome — Unknown, 







V3 388 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



r^ 






H 






IPU 

vol 






" Shame fa' you and your trade baith, 

Canna beet f a gude fellow by your mystery! 

But leeze me on thee, my little black mare, 
Thou's worth thy weight in gold to me." 

There was horsing, horsing in haste, 
And there was marching upon the lee; 

Until they cam' to Dumfries port, 

And they lighted there right speedilie. 

" There's five of us will hold the horse, 
And other five will watchmen be: 

But wha's the man, amang ye a', 

Will gae to the Tolbooth door wi' me ?" 

up then spak' him mettled John Hall, 
(Frae the hugh Tiviotdale was he) 

"JLf it should cost my life this very night, 
I'll gae to the Tulbooth door wi' thee." 

" Be of gude cheir, now, Archie, lad ! 

Be of gude cheir, now, dear billie ! 
Work thou within, and we without, 

And the morn thou'se dine at Ca'field wi' me. 

O Jockie Hall stepped to the door, 
And he bended low back his knee ; 

And he made the bolts, the door hang on, 
Loup frae the wa' right wantonlie. 

He took the prisoner on his back, 

And down the Tolbooth stair cam' he; 

The black mare stood ready at the door, 
I wot a foot ne'er stirred she. 

They laid the links out ower her neck, 
And that was her gold twist to be ; § 

And they cam' down thro' Dumfries toun, 
And wow but they cam' speedilie. 

The live lang night these twelve men rade, 
And aye till they were right wearie, 

Until they came to the Murraywhate, 
And they lighted there right speedilie. 

"A smith ! a smith !" then Dickie he cries, 
" A smith, a smith, right speedilie, 

To file the irons frae my dear brither! 
For forward, forward we wad be." 



f Beet— Abet, aid. 

% Mystery — Trade. — See Shakespeare. 

5 The Gold Twht means the small gilded & 



They had na filed a shackle of iron, 

A shack'e of iron but barely thrie, 
When out and spak' young Simon brave, ^r^l 

" O dinna ye see what I do see ? 

"Lo ! yonder comes Lieutenant Gordon, 

Wi' a hundred men in his cumpanie ; 
This night will be our lyke-wake night, 

The morn the day we a' maun die." 

there was mounting, mounting in haste, 
And there was marching upon the lee , 

Until they cam' to Annan water, 
And it was flowing like the sea. 

"My mare is young and very skeigh, || 
And in o' the weil % she will drown me; 

But ye'll take mine, and I'll take thine, 

And sune through the water we sail be." |._cj\ 

Then up and spak' him, coarse Ca'field, 

(I wot and little gude worth was he) 
" We had better lose ane than lose a' the lave ; h97 

We'll lose the prisoner, we'll gae free." 

" Shame fa' you and your lands baith ! 

Wad ye e'en * • your lands to your born billy ? ) 
But hey ! bear up, my bonnie black mare, 

And yet thro' the water we sail be." 

Now they did swim that wan water, 

And wow but they swam bonnilie ! 
Until they cam' to the other side, [drunkily, ^ === 

And they wrang their cloathes right 

" Come thro', come thro', Lieutenant Gordon ! 

Come thro' and drink some wine wi' me J K4H=» 
Fur there is an ale-house here hard by, 

And it shall not cost thee ae penny." 

"Throw me my irons," quo' Lieutenant Gor« 7 
" I wot they cost me dear aneugh." fdon ; ( 

" The shame a ma," quo' mettled John Ha', 
" They'll be gude shackles to my pleugh." 

" Come thro', come thro'. Lieutenant Gordon ! £ 
Come thro' and drink some wine wi' me ! 

Yestreen I was your prisoner, 

But now this morning am 1 free." 



chains drawn across the chest of a war-horse, as 

a part of his caparison. — Scott- 

|| Skeigh— Shy. % WtU— E&ty, 

** E'en— Even, put into comparison. 



[Originally printed in the notes to " Mar- 
mion." — "It was taken down," says Sir Walter, 
" from the recitation of a woman eighty years of 
age, mother of one of the miners in Alston -Moor, 
by the agent of the lead mines there, who com- 
municated it to my friend and correspondent, R. 
Surtees, Esq. of Mainsforth. She had not, she 
said, heard it for many years ; but, when she was 
a girl, it used to be sung at merry-makings, "till 
the roof rung again." To preserve this curious, 
though rude rhyme, it is here inserted. The 
ludicrous turn given to the slaughter, marks that 
wild and disorderly state of society, in which a 
murder was not merely a casual circumstance, 
but, in some cases, an exceedingly good jest. 
The structure of the ballad resembles the " Fray 
of Suport," having the same irregular stanza and 
wild chorus."] 

Hoot awa', lads, hoot awa', [and a', 

Ha' ye heard how the Ridleys, and Thirlwalls, 
Ha' set upon Albany Feathei-stonhaugh, 
And taken his life at the Peadmanshaugh : 

There was "Willimoteswick, 

And Hardriding Dick, 
And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will of the Wa\ 

I cannot tell a', I cannot tell a', 
And mony a mair that the de'il may knaw. 

The auld man went down, but Nicol, his son, 
Ran away afore the fight was begun ; 

And he run, and he run, 

And afore they were done, 
There was many a Featherston gat sic a stun, 
As never was seen since the world begun. 

1 canna tell a', I canna tell a' ; 
Some gat a skelp, and some gat a claw ; 
But they gar'd the Featherstons haud their 
!Nicol, and Alick, and a'. [jaw, — 

Some gat a hurt, and some gat nane ; 
Some had harness, and some gat sta'en. 

Ane gat a twist o' the craig ; 
Ane gat a bunch o' the wame ; 
Symy Haw gat lamed of a leg, 
And syne ran wallowing hame.f 



* Pronounced Arvbony. 
t Wallowing— Bellowing. 



Hoot, hoot, the auld man's slain outright ! 

Lay him now wi' his face down : — he's a sorrow- 
Janet, thou donot, [ful sight. 
I'll lay my best bonnet, 

Thou gets a new gude-man afore it be night. 

Hoo away, lads, hoo away, 

Wi's a' be hangid if we stay. [the bigging : 

Tak' up the dead man, and lay him anent 
Here's the Bailey o' Haltwhistle, 
Wi' his great bull's pizzle, [piggin. 

That supp'd up the broo', and syne — in the 



Si^Mijrfjit* '\{W 



w 

[First printed in the Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border. — " This beautiful ballad," says 
Scott, "is published from a copy in G-lenriddell's 
MSS., with some slight variations from tradi- 
tion. It alludes to one of the most remarkable 
feuds upon the west-marches. In 1585, John, 
lord Maxwell, or as he styled himself, earl of 
j Morton, having quarrelled with the earl of 
Arran, reigning favourite of James YL, and fal- 
! len, of course, under the displeasure of the court, 
j was denounced a rebel. A commission was also 
given to the laird of Johnstone, then warden of 
j the west-marches, to pursue and apprehend the 
i ancient rival and enemy of his house. Two 
bands of mercenaries, commanded by captains 
j Cranstoun and Larnmie, who were sent from 
I Edinburgh to support Johnstone, were attacked 
j and cut to pieces at Crawford-muir, by Robert 
i Maxwell, natural brother to the chieftain ;* who, 
following up his advantage, burned Johnstone's 
! eastle of Lochwood, observing with savage glee, 
1 that he would give lady Johnstone light en ugh 
by which to "set h^r hood." In a subsequent 
conflict, Johnstone himself was defeated, and 
made prisoner, and is said to have died of grief 
at the disgrace which he sustained. — See Spot- 
tiswoode and Johnstone's Histories, and Moyse's 
Memoirs, ad annum 1585. 

* " It is devoutly to be wished, that this Laminie 
j (who was killed in the skirmish) may have been the 
I same miscreant, who, in the days of queen Mary's 
distresses, 'hes ensigne being of quhyt taffitae, had 
i painted on it ye cruell murther of king Henry, and 
> layed down before her majestie, at quhat time she pre- 
j seated herself as prisoner to ye lordrs.'— Birrel's Diary, 
| June 15, 1567. It would be some satisfaction to know, 
' that the grey hairs of this worthy personage did not go 
ft down to the grave in peace." 




390 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



gg 






" By one of the revolutions common in "those < 
days, Maxwell was soon after restored to the 
king's favour, in his turn, and obtained the 
wardenry of the west-marches. A bond of alli- 
ance was subscribed by him, and by Sir James 
Johnstone, and for some time the two clans 
lived in harmony. In the year 1593, however, 
the hereditary feud was revived, on the follow- 
ing occasion : A band of marauders, of the clan 
Johnstone, drove a prey of cattle from the lands 
belonging to the lairds of Crichton, Sanquhar, 
and Drumlanrig; and defeated, with slaughter, 
the pursuers, who attempted to rescue their pro- 
perty. The injured parties, being apprehensive 
that Maxwell would not cordially embrace their 
cause, on account of his late reconciliation with 
the Johnstones, endeavoured to overcome his 
reluctance, by offering to enter into bonds of 
manrent, and so to become his followers and 
liegemen; he, on the other hand, granting to 
them a bond of maintenance, or protection, by 
which he bound himself, in usual form, to main- 
tain their quarrel against all mortals, saving his 
loyalty. Thus, the most powerful and respecta- 
ble families in Dumfries-shire became, for a time, 
the vassals of lord Maxwell. This secret alliance 
was discovered to Sir James Johnstone by the 
laird of Cummertrees, one of his own clan, 
though a retainer to Maxwell. Cummertrees 
even contrived to possess himself of the bonds of 
manrent, which he delivered to his chief. The 
petty warfare betwixt the rival barons was in- 
stantly renewed. Buccleuch, a near relation of 
Johnstone, came to his assistance with his clan, 
' the most renowned freebooters,' says a histo- 
rian, 'the fiercest and bravest warriors among 
the border tribes.' With Buccleuch also came 
the Elliots, Armstrongs, and G-rsemes. Thus 
reinforced, Johnstone surprised and cut to pieces 
a party of the Maxwells, stationed at Lochma- 
ben. On the other hand, lord Maxwell, armed 
with the royal authority, and numbering among 
his followers all the barons of Nithesdale, dis- 
played his banner as the king's lieutenant, and 
invaded Annandale at the head of 2000 men. In 
those days, however, the royal auspices seem to 
have carried as little good fortune as effective 
strength with them. A desperate conflict, still 
renowned in tradition, took place at the Dryffe 
Sands, not far from Lockerby, in which John- 
stone, although inferior in numbers, partly by 
his own conduct, partly by the valour of hia 
allies, gained a decisive victory. Lord Maxwell, 
a tall man, and heavily armed, was struck from 



his horse in the flight, and cruelly slain, after 
the hand, which he had stretched out for quar- 
ter, had been severed from his body. Many of 
his followers were slain in the battle, and many 
cruelly wounded, especially by slashes in the face, 
which wound was thence termed a ' Lockerby 
lick.' The barons of Lag, Closeburn, and Drum- 
lanrig, escaped by the fleetness of their horses ; a 
circumstance alluded to in the following ballad. 
This fatal battle was followed by a long feud, at- 
tended with all the circumstances of honor, pro- 
per to a barbarous age. 

" John, lord Maxwell, with whose Goodnight 
the reader is here presented, was son to him who 
fell at the battle of Dryffe Sands, and is said to 
have early avowed the deepest revenge for his 
father's death. Such, indeed, was the fiery and 
untameable spirit of the man, that neither the 
threats nor entreaties of the king himself could 
make him lay aside his vindictive purpose; al- 
though Johnstone, the object of his resentment, 
had not only reconciled himself to the court, 
but even obtained the wardenry of the middle- 
marches, in room of Sir John Carmichael, mur- 
dered by the Armstrongs. Lord Maxwell was 
therefore prohibited to approach the border 
counties; and having, in contempt of that 
mandate, excited new disturbances, he wa9 con- 
fined in the castle of Edinburgh. From this 
fortress, however, he contrived to make his 
escape; and, having repaired to Dumfries- 
shire, he sought an amicable interview with 
Johnstone, under pretence of a wish to accommo- 
date their differences. Sir Robert Maxwell, of 
Orchardstane (mentioned in the ballad, ver. 1.,) 
who was married to a sister of Sir James John- 
stone, persuaded his brother-in-law to accede to 
Maxwell's proposal. The following relation of 
what followed is taken from an article in Shaw- 
field's MS. — ' The simple treuth and cause of the 
treasonable murther of umquhile Sir James 
Johnstone of Dunskellie, knight, was as efter 
followes. To wit, John lord Maxwell having 
dealt anil useit his best means with some noble- 
men and barrones within the cuntrey, and like- 
wayes with sundrie of the name of Maxwell, 
being refuised of them all to be partakers of so 
foull ane deed; till at last he unhappily persuad- 
ed one Charles Maxwell, one of the brether of 
Kirkhouse, to be with him, and having made 
him assuired to be pairtner in that treasonable 
plott; therefore, taking advantage of the weak- 
ness and unabilitie of umquhill Sir Robert Max- 
well of Orcliyardtoun, knight, presuming that 



BORDER BALLADS, 



301 



he had power of the said Sir James, being bre- 
ther-in-law to uthers, to bring him toanye pairt 
he pleased ; Maxwell pretending he had speciall 
business to doe with Sir James, hearing he was 
going from the court of England, so gave out by 
reasoun he was the king's rebell for the time, for 
breaking waird out of the castle of Edinburgh, 
that he had no other houpes to obtaine the king's 
favour but be his meanes. So upon this pretence, 
the said Sir James was moved to meet with him 
at Auchnamhill, near by Arthorstane, without 
the house of Bent, upon the 6th of Aprile 1608, 
with one man onlie with him as was with the 
uther, therselves two onlie and the forsaid Sir 
Robert Maxwell with them, and their servants 
being a little off. The forsaid Charles falls out 
with opprobrious and malicious speeches to Sir 
James his servant, William Johnstoune of Gun- 
menlie, and before he was aware shott him with 
ane pistoll. Sir James hearing the shott and his 
man's words, turning about to see what was 
past, immediatlie Maxwell shott him behind his 
back with ane pistoll chairgit with two poysonit 
bullets, at which shott the said Sir James fell 
from his horse. Maxwell not being content 
therewith, raid about him ane lang tyme, and 
persued him farder, vowing to use him more 
cruelly and treacherouslie than he had done, for 
which it is known sufficiently what followed.-' 
' A fact,' saith Spottiswoode, * detested by all 
honest men, and the gentleman's misfortune 
severely lamented, for be was a man full of wis- 
dom and courage.' 

" Lord Maxwell the murderer, made his escape 
to France ; but, having ventured to return to 
Scotland, he was apprehended lurking in the 
wilds of Caithness, and brought to trial at Edin- 
burgh. The royal authority was now much 
strengthened by the union of the crowns, and 
James employed it in staunching the feuds of the 
nobility, with a firmness which was no attribute 
of his general character. But in the best actions 
of that monarch, there seems to have been an 
unfortunate tincture of that meanness, so visible 
on the present occasion. Lord Maxwell was in- 
dicted for the murder of Johnstone; but this 
was combined with a charge of fire-raising, 
which, according to the ancient Scottish law, if 
perpetrated by a landed man, constituted a spe- 
cies of treason, and inferred forfeiture. Thus the 
noble purpose of public justice was sullied by be- 
ing united with that of enriching some needy 
favourite. John, lord Maxwell, was condemned, 
and beheaded, 21st May, 1613. Sir G-ideon Mur- 



ray, treasurer-depute, had a great share of his 
forfeiture ; but the attainder was afterwards re- 
versed, and the honours and the estate were 
, conferred upon the brother of the deceased. — 
Laing's History of Scotland, vol. I. p. 62. John- 
! stoni Historia, p. 493. 

I " The lady, mentioned in the ballad, was sis- 
'. ter to the marquis of Hamilton, and, according 
to Johnstone the historian, had little reason to 
! regret being separated from her husband, whose 
! harsh treatment finally occasioned her death. 
i But Johnstone appears not to be altogether un- 
j tinctured with the prejudices of his clan, and is 
I probably, in this instance, guilty of exaggeration ; 
I as the active share, taken by the marquis of 
Hamilton in favour of Maxwell, is a circumstance 
inconsistent with such a report. 

" Thus was finally ended, by a salutary exam- 
! pie of severity, the ' foul debate' betwixt the 
Maxwells and Johnstones, in the course of which 
each family lost two chieftains : one dying of a 
broken heart, one in the field of battle, one by 
| assassination, and one by the sword of the exe- 
', cutioner. 

" It seems reasonable to believe, that the fol- 
lowing ballad must have been written before the 
; death of lord Maxwell, in 1613 ; otherwise there 
; would have been some allusion to that event. It 
. must therefore have been composed betwixt 
| 1608 and that period."] 

" Adieu, madame, my mother dear, 

But and my sisters three ! 
Adieu, fair Robert of Orchardstane ! 

My heart is wae for thee. 
Adieu, the lily and the rose, 

The primrose fair to see : 
Adieu, my ladye, and only joy ! 

For I may not stay with thee. 

" Though I ha'e slain the Lord Johnstone, 

What care I for their feid ? 
My noble mind their wrath disdains : 

He was my father's deid. 
Both night and day I laboured oft 

Of him avenged to be ; 
But now I've get what lang I sought, 

And I may not stay with thee. 

" Adieu ! Drumlanrig, false wert aye, 

And Closeburn in a band ! 
The laird of Lag, frae my father that fled, 

When the Johnstone struck aff his hand. 






m 






K 



rcso 






T iey were three brethren in a band — 

Joy may they never see ! 
Tneir treacherous art, and cowardly heart, 

Has twin'd my love and me. 

" Adieu ! Dumfries, my proper place, 

But and Carlaverock fair ! 
Adieu ! my castle of the Thrieve, 

Wi* a' my buildings there : 
'* Adieu ! Loehmaben's gates sae fair, 

The Langholm -holm, where birks there be; 
Adieu! my ladye, and only joy, 

For, trust me, I may not stay wi' thee. 

" Adieu ! fair Eskdale up and down, 

Where my puir friends do dwell ; 
The bangister will ding them down, 

And will them sair compel!. 
But I'll avenge their feid mysel', 

When I come o'er the sea ; 
Adieu ! my ladye, and only joy, 

For I may not stay wi' thee." 

" Lord of the land !"— that ladye said, 

" O wad ye go wi' me, 
Unto my brother's stately tower, 

Where safest ye may be ! 
There Hamiltons and Douglas baith, 

Shall rise to succour thee." 
" Thanks for thy kindness, fair my dame, 

But 1 may not stay wi' thee." 

Then he tuik aff a gay gold ring, 

Thereat hang signets three ; 
"Hae, tak' thee that, mine ain dear thing, 

And still ha'e mind o' me : 
But, if thou take another lord, 

Ere I come ower the sea — 
His life is but a three days' lease, 

Though I may not stay wi' thee." 

The wind was fair, the ship was clear, 

The good lord went away ; 
And most part of his friends were there, 

To give him a fair convey. 
They drank the wine, they did na spair, 

Even in that gude lord's 6ight — 
Sae now he's o'er the floods sae gray, 

And Lord Maxwell has ta'en his Good- 
night. 



[" The reader will find, prefixed to the fore- 
going ballad, an account of the noted fend be- 
twixt the families of Maxwell and Johnstone. 
The following song celebrates the skirmish, in 
1593, betwixt the Johnstones and Crichtons, 
which led to the revival of the ancient quarrel 
betwixt Johnstone and Maxwell, and finally to 
the battle of Dryffe Sands, in which the latter 
lost his life. Wamphray is the name of a parish 
in Annandale. Lethenhall was the abode of 
Johnstone of Wamphray, and continued to be 
so till of late years. William Johnstone of 
Wamphray, called the Galliard, was a noted 
freebooter. A place, near the head of Tiviot- 
dale, retains the name of the Galliard 's Faulds, 
(folds,) being a valley where he used to secrete and 
divide his spoil, with his Liddesdale and Eskdale 
associates. His nom de guerre seems to have 
been derived from the dance called the Galliard. 
The word is still used in Scotland, to express an 
active, gay, dissipated character.* Willie of the 
Kirkhill, nephew to the Galliard , and his aven- 
ger, was also a noted border robber. Previous 
to the battle of Dryffe Sands, so often mention- 
ed, tradition reports, that Maxwell had offered 
a ten-pound-land to any of his party, who should 
bring him the head or hand of the laird of John- 
stone. This being reported to his antagonist, he 
answered, he had not a ten-pound-land to offer, 
but would give a five-merk-land to the man who 
should that day cut off the head or hand of lord 
Maxwell. Willie of Kirkhill, mounted upon a 
young grey horse, rushed upon the enemy, and 
earned the reward, by striking down the unfor- 
tunate chieftian, and cutting off his right hand. 

" Leverhay, Stefenbiggin, Girth-head, &c, are 
all situated in the parish of Wamphray. The 
Biddes-burn, where the skirmish took place be- 
twixt the Johnstones and their pursuers, is a 
rivulet which takes its course anong the moun- 
tains on the confines of Nithsdale and Annan- 
dale. The Wellpath is a pass by which the 
Johnstones were retreating to their fastnesses in 



* Cleveland applies the phrase in a very different 
manner, in treating of the assembly of Divines at 
Westminster, 1644 : 

And Selden is a Galliard by himself, 
And wel might be ; there's more divines in him, 
Than in all this their Jewish Sanhedrim. 
Skelton, in his railing poem against James TV., 
terms him Sir Skyr Galyerd. 



BORDER BALLADS, 



& 



Annandale. Ricklaw-holm is a place upon the 
Evan water, which falls into the Annan, below i 
Hoffat. Wamphray-gate was in those days an i 
ale-house. With these local explanations, it is \ 
hoped the following ballad will be easily under- ] 
stood. 

" From a pedigree in the appeal case of Sir | 
James Johnstone of Westeraw, claiming the 
honours and titles of Annandale, it appears 
that the Johnstones of Wamphray were descend- 
ed from James, sixth son of the sixth barcn of 
Johnstone. The male became extinct in 1657." — 
Scott's Minstrelsy.] 

'Twixt Girth -head and the Langwood end, 
Lived the Galliard, and the Galliard's men; 
But and the lads of Leverhay, 
That drove the Crichton's gear away. 

It is the lads of Lethenha", 
The greatest rogues amang them a' : 
But and the lads of Stefenbiggin, 
They broke the house in at the rigging. 

The lads of Fingland, and Helbeck-hill, 
They were never for good, but aye for ill ; 
'Twixt the Staywood bush and Langside-hill, 
They stealed the brucked cow and the branded 
bull. 

It is the lads of the Girth -head, 

The deil's in them for pride and greed ; 

For the Galliard, and the gay Galliard's men, 

They ne'er saw a horse but they made it their ain. 

The Galliard to Nithsdale is gane, 

To steal Sim Crichton's winsome dun ; 

The Galliard is unto the stable gane, 

But instead of the dun, the blind he has ta'en. 

'* Now Simmy, Simmy of the Side, 
Come out and see a Johnstone ride ! 
Here's the bonniest horse in a' Nithside, 
And a gentle Johnstone aboon his hide." 

Simmy Crichton's mounted then, 

And Crichton has raised mony a ane; 

The Galliard trowed his horse had been wight, 

But the Crichtons beat him out o' sight. 



As soon as the Galliard the Crichton saw, 
Behind the saugh-bush he did draw ; 
And there the Crichtons the Galliard hae ta'en, 
And nane wi' him but Willie alane. 



" Simmy, Simmy, now let me gang, 
And I'll ne'er mair do a Crichton wrang ! 
O Simmy, Simmy, now let me be, 
And a peck o' gowd I'll give to thee J 

" O Simmy, Simmy, now let me gang, 
And my wife shall heap it with her hand." 
But the Crichtons wad na let the Galliard be, 
But they hanged him hie upon a tree. 

think then Willie he was right wae, 
When he saw his uncle guided sae ; 
" But if ever I live "Wamphray to see, 
My uncle's death avenged shall be !" 

Back to Wamphray he is gane, 
And riders has raised mony a ane ; 
Saying—" 3Iy lads, if ye'll be true, 
Ye shall a' be clad in the noble blue." 

Back to Nithsdale they have gane, 

And awa' the Crichtons' nowt ha'e ta'en ; 

But when they cam' to the Wellpath-head, 
The Crichtons bade them 'light and lead. 

And when they cam : to the Biddcs burn, 
The Crichtons bade them stand and turn ; 
And when they cam' to the Biddes strand, 
The Crichtons they were hard at hand. 

But when they cam' to the Biddes law, 
The Johnstons bade them stand and draw; 
" We've done nae ill, we'll thole nae wrang, 
But back to Wamphray we will gang." 

And out spoke Willie of the Kirkhill, 
" Of fighting, lads, ye'se ha'e your fill." 
And from his horse Willie he lap, 
And a burnished brand in his hand he gat. 

Out through the Crichtons Willie be ran, 
And dang them down baith horse and man ; 

but the Johnstones were wondrous rude, 
When the Biddes burn ran three days blood. 

' ' Now, sirs, we have done a noble deed ; 
We have revenged the Galliard's bleid : 
For every finger of the Galliard's hand, 

1 vow this day I've killed a man." 



As they cam' in at Evan-head, 
At Rick-law holm they spread abread; 
" Drive on, my lads ! it will be late ; 
\tt We'll ha'e a pint at Wamphray gate. 



(^1 







SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



~" 



cy\ 









" For where'er 1 gang or e'er I ride, 
The lads of Wamphry are on my side ; 
And of a' the lads that I do ken, 
A Wamphray lad 's the king of men." 



loino min 



[THe following beautiful fragment was taken 
down by Mr Surtees, from the recitation of Anne 
Douglas, an old woman, who weeded in his gar- 
den. It is imperfect, and the words within 
brackets were inserted by my correspondent, to 
supply such stanzas as the chauntress's memory 
left defective. The hero of the ditty, if the reci- 
ter be correct, was shot to death by nine bro- 
thers, whose sister he had seduced, but was 
afterwards buried at her request, near their 
usual pi. ce of meeting; which may account for 
his being laid not in holy ground, but beside the 
burn. The name of Barthram, or Bertram, 
would argue a Northumbrian origin, and there 
is, or was, a Headless Cross, among many so 
named, near Elsdon in Northumberland. But 
the mention of the Nine-Stane Burn, and Nine- 
Stane Big, seems to refer to those places in the 
vicinity of Hermitage Castle, which is counte- 
nanced by the mentioning our Lady's Chapel. 
Perhaps the hero may have been an English- 
man, and the lady a native of Scotland, which 
renders the catastrophe even more probable. 
The style of the ballad is rather Scottish than 
Northumbrian. They certainly did bury in for- 
mer days near the Nine-Stane Burn ; for the edi- 
tor remembers finding a small monumental cross, 
with initials, lying among the heather. It was so 
small, that, with the assistance of another gen- 
tleman, he easily placed it upright. — Minstrelsy 
of the Scottish Border.] 

They shot him dead at the Nine-Stan e Rig, 

Beside the Headless Cross, 
And they left him lying in his blood. 

Upon the moor and moss. 

They made a bier of the broken bough, 

The sauch and the aspin gray, 
And they bore him to the Lady Chapel, 

And waked him there all day. 



A lady came to that lonely bower, 

And threw her robes aside, 
She tore her ling [long] yellow hair, 

And knelt at Barthram's side. 

She bath'd him in the Lady-Well 

His wounds so deep and sair, 
And she plaited a garland for his breast, 

And a garland for his hair. 

They rowed him in a lily-sheet, 

And bare him to his earth, 
[And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's 
mass, 

As they pass'd the Chapel Garth.] 

They buried him at [the mirk] midnight 
[When the dew fell cold and still, 

When the aspin gray forgot to play, 
And the mist clung to the hill.] 

They dug his grave but a bare foot deep, 
By the edge of the Nine-stane Burn, 

And the covered him [o'er with the heather- 
flower] 
The moss and the (Lady) fern. 

A Gray Friar staid upon the grave, 

And sang till the morning tide, 
And a Friar shall sing for Bartram's soul, 

While the Headless Cross shall bide. * 



&§2 £xwi of Jbupoicf, 

[Or all the border ditties," says Sir Walter 
Scott, " which have fallen into my hands, this is 
by far the most uncouth and savage. It is 
usually chaunted in a sort of wild recitative, 
except the burden, which swells into a long and 
varied howl, not unlike to a view hollo*. The 
words, and the very great irregularity of the 



* Mr Surtees observes, on this passage, that, 
in the return made by the commissioners, on the 
dissolution of Newminster Abbey, there is an 
item of a Chauntry, for one priest to sing daily 
ad erucem lapideam. Probably many of these 
crosses had the like expiatory solemnities for 
persons slain there.— Scott. 



SB 



BORDER BALLADS. 



395 



M 



stanza (if it deserves the name), sufficiently 
point out its intention and origin. An English 
woman, residing in Suport, near the foot of the 
Kershope, having been plundered in the night 
by a band of Scottish moss-troopers, is supposed 
to convoke her servants and friends for the pur- 
suit, or Hot Trod ; upbraiding them, at the same 
time, in homely phrase, for their negligence and 
security. The Hot Trod was followed by the 
persons who had lost goods, with bloud-huunds 
and horns, to raise the country to help. They 
also used to carry a burning wisp of straw at a 
spear head, and to raise a cry, similar to the 
Indian war-whoop. It appears, from articles 
made by the wardens of the English marciies, 
September 12th, in 6th of Edward VI. that all, 
on this cry being raised, were obliged to follow 
the fray, or chace, under pain of death. With these 
explanations, the general purport of the ballad 
may be easily discovered, though particular pas- 
sages have become inexplicable, probably through 
corruptions introduced by reciters. The present 
copy is corrected from four copies, which differed 
widely from each other."] 

Sleep'rv Sim of the Lamb-hill, 

And snoring Jock of Suport-mill, 

Ye are baith right het and fou' ; — 

But my wae wakens na you. 

Last night I saw a sorry sight — 

Nought left me, o' four-and-twenty gude 

ousen and kye, 
My weel-ridden gelding, and a white quey, 
But a toom byre and a wide, . 
And the twelve nogs on ilka side. 

Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', 

My gear's a' gane. 

Weel may ye ken, 

Last night 1 was right scarce o' men : 

But Toppet Hob o' the Mains had guesten'd 

in my house by chance ; 
I set him to wear the fore-door wi' the speir, 

while I kept the back door wi' the lance ; 
But they ha'e run him through the thick o' 

the thie, and broke his knee-pan, 
And the merghf o' his shin bane has run 

down on his spur leather whang : 
He's lame while he lives, and where'er he 

may gang. 

Fy lads ! shout a' a' a* a' a', 
My gear's a' gane. 



Nogs — Stakes. f Mergh — Marrow. 



But Peenye, my gude son, is out at the Hag- 
but-head, 

His e'en glittering for anger like a fiery 
gleed; 

Crying — " Mak' sure the nooks 

Of Maky's-muir crooks ; 

For the wily Scot takes by nooks, hooks, and 
crooks. 

Gin we meet a' together in a head the morn, 

We'll be merry men." 

Fy lads 1 shout a' a' a' a' a', 
My gear's a' gane. 

There's doughty Cuddy in the Heugh-head, 
Thou was aye gude at a need : 
With thy brock-skin bag at thy belt, 
Aye ready to mak' a puir man help. 
Thou maun awa' out to the cauf-craigs, 
(Where anes ye lost your ain tvva naigs) 
And there toom thy brock-skin bag. ■" 

Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', 

My gear's a ta'en. 

Doughty Dan o' the Houlet Hirst, 

Thou was aye gude at a birst : 

Gude wi' a bow, and better wi' a speir, 

The bauldest march-man that e'er followed 

gear ; 
Come thou here. 

Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', 

My gear's a' gane. 

Rise, ye carle coopers, frae making o' kirns 

and tubs, 
In the Mcol forest woods. \ 
Your craft has na left the value of an oak 

rod, 
But if you had had ony fear o' God, 
Last night ye had na slept sae sound, 
And let my gear be a" ta'en. 

Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', 
My gear's a' ta'en. 

Ah I lads, we'll fang them a' in a net ! 
For I ha'e a' the fords o' Liddel set ; £ 






is 






-I 



* The badger-skin pouch was used for carrying 
ammunition. — Scott. 

f A wood in Cumberland, in which Suport is 
situated. — Scott. 

^ Watching fords was a ready mode of inter- 
cepting the marauders; the names of the most 



6W<^i^ 



The Dunkin and the Door-loup, 

The Willie-ford, and the Water-Slack, 

The Black-rack and the Trout-dub of Lid- 
del ; 

There stands John Forster wi' five men at 
his back, 

Wi' buft coat and cap of steil : 

Boo ! ca* at them e'en, Jock ; 

That ford's sicker, I wat weil. 

Fy lads i shout a' a' a' a' a', 
My gear's a' ta'en. 

Hoo ! hoo ! gare raise the Reid Souter, and 

Ringan's Wat, 
Wi' a broad elshin and a wicker ; 
I wat weil they'll mak' a ford sicker. 
Sae whether they be Elliots or Armstrangs, 
Or rough riding Scots, or rude Johnstones, 
Or whether they be frae the Tarras or Ews- 

dale> 
They maun turn and fight, or try the deeps 

o' Liddel. 

Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', 
My gear's a' ta en. 

" Ah ! but they will play you another jigg, 
F r they will out at the big rig, 
And through at Fargy Grame's gap."* 
But I ha'e anither wile for that: 
For 1 ha'e little Will, and Stalwart Wat, 
And lang Aicky, in the Souter Moor, 
Wi' his sleuth dog sits in his watch right 
sure ; f 






noted fords upon the Liddel are recited in this 
verse. — Scott. 

* Fergus G-rame of Sowport, as one of the 
chief men of that clan, became security to Lord 
Scroope for the good behaviour of his friends 
and dependants, 8th January, 1662. — Introduc- 
tion to History of Westmoreland and Cumber- 
land, p. 111.— Scott. 

f The sentinels, who, by the march laws, 
were planted upon the border each night, had 
usually sleuth-dog, or blood-hounds, along with 
them. — See Nicholson's Border Laws, and Lord 
Wharton's Regulations, in the 6th of Edward 
VI. 

Of the blood-hound we have said something in 
the notes on Hobbie Noble; but we may, in ad- 
dition, refer to the following poetical description 
of the qualities and uses of that singular ani- 
mal ; — 



Should the dog gi'e a bark, 
He'll be out in his sark, 
And die or won. 

Fy lads ! shout a* a' a' a' a', 

My gear's a' ta'en. 

Ha ! boys — I see a party appearing — wha's 

yon ? 
Methinks it's the captain of Bewcastle, and 

Jephtha's John, $ 



= Upon the banks 

Of Tweed, slow winding through the vale, the seat 
Of war and rapine once, ere Britons knew 
The sweets of peace, or Anna's dread commands 
To lasting leagues the haughty rivals awed, 
There dwelt a pilfering nice, well train'd and skill'd 
In all the mysteries of theft, the spoil 
Their only substance, feuds and war their sport. 
Not more expert in every fraudful art 
The arch felon was of old, who by the tail 
Drew back his lowing prize: in vain hi6 wiles, 
In vain the shelter of the covering rock, 
In vain the sooty cloud and ruddy flames, 
T.'rt issued from his mouth, for soon he paid 
His forfeit life : a debt now justly due 
To wronged Alcides, and avenging Heaven ! 
Veil'd in the shades of night, the ford the 
stream, 
Then, prowling far and near, whate'er they s-eize 
Becomes their prey : nor flocks nor herds are safe, 
Nor Stalls protect the steer, nor strong barr'd doors 
Secure the favourite horse. Scon as the morn 
Reveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan 
The plunder' d owner stands, and from his lip8 
A thousand thronging curses burst their way. 
He calls his stout allies, and in a line 
His faithful hounds he leads ; then with ft voice 
That utters loud his rage, attentive cheers. 
Soon the sagacious brute, Ins curl ng tail 
Flourish' d in air, low bending, plies arouud 
His busy nose, the steaming vapour snuffs 
Inquisitive, nor leaves one turf untried: 
Till, couscious of the recent stains, his heart 
Beats quick, his snuffling nose, his active tail, 
Attest his joy; then, with deep-opening mouth 
That makes the welkin tremble, he proclaims 
The audacious felon ! foot by foot he marks 
His winding-way, while all the listening crowd 
Applaud his reasonings. O'er the watery ford, 
Dry sandy heaths, and stony barren hills, 
O'er beaten tracks, with men and beast distain'd, 
Unerring he pursues : till, at the cot 
Arrived, and seizing by his guilty throat 
The caitiff vile, redeems the captive prey : 
So exquisitely debcate his sense 1 

Somerville's Chase. 

$ According to the late Glenriddell's notes on 
this ballad, the office of captain of Bewcastle was 
held by the chief of the Nixons. 

Catlowdie is a small village in Cumberland, 
near the junction of the Esk and Xiddel.— Scott. 



Coming down by the foul steps of Catlowdie's 

loan : 
They'll make a' sicker, come which way they will. 

Ha lads ! shout a* a' a' a' a', 

My gear's a' ta'en. 

Captain Musgrave, and a' his band,* 
Are coming down by the Siller-strand, 
And the muckle toun-bell o' Carlisle is rung; 
My gear was a J weel won, 
And before it's carried o'er the border, mony 
a man's gae down. 

Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', 

My gear's a" gane. 



kitted 



[First published in the Ministrelsy of the 
Scottish Border.—" This ballad," says Sir Wal- 
ter Scott, " has a claim to very high antiquity. 
It has been preserved by tradition ; and is, per- 
haps, the most authentic instance of a long and 
very old poem, exclusively thus preserved. It is 
only known to a few old people upon the seques- 
tered banks of the Ettrick; and is published, as 
written down from the recitation of the mother 
of Mr James Hogg. She learned the ballad from 
a blind man, who died at the advanced age of 
ninety, and is said to have been possessed of 
much traditionary knowledge. Although the 
language of this poem is much modernized, yet 
many words, which the reciters have retained 
without understanding them, still preserve traces 
of its antiquity. Such are the words springals 
(corruptedly pronounced spring walls,) sorvies, 
portcullize, and many other appropriate terms of 
war and chivalry, which could never have been 
introduced by a modern ballad-maker. The in- 
cidents are striking and well-managed: and 
they are in strict conformity with the manners 
of the age in which they are placed. 

" The date of the ballad cannot be ascertained 
with any degree of accuracy. Sir Richard Mait- 
land, the hero of the poem, seems to have been 

* This was probably the famous captain Jack 
Musgrave, who had charge of the watch along 
the Cryssop, or Kershope, as appears from the 
order of the watches appointed by Lord Whar- 
ton, when deputy-warden-general, in the 6th 
Edward VI,— Scott, 




in possession of his estate about 1250 ; so that, as 
he survived the commencement of the wars be- 
twixt England and Scotland, in 1296, his prowess 
against the English, in defence of his castle of 
Lauder or Thirlstane, must have been exerted 
during his extreme old age. He seems to have 
been distinguished for devotion as well a3 valour ; 
for, A. D. 1249, Dominus Ricardus de Mautlant 
gave to the abbey of Dry burgh, " Terras suas de 
Haubentside, in territorio suo de Thirlestane, 
pro salute animae suae, et sponsaa suae, antecesso- 
rum suorum et successorum suorum, in perpe- 
tuum." He also gave, to the same convent, 
" Omnes terras, quas Walterus de Giling tenuit 
in feodo suo de Thirlestane, et pastura incom- 
muni de Thirlestane, ad quadraginta oves, sexa- 
ginta vaccas, et ad viginti equos." — Cartulary of 
Dryburgh Abbey, in the Advocates' Library. 

" From the following ballad, and from the 
family traditions referred to in the Maitland 
MSS., Auld Maitland appears to have had three 
sons ; but we learn, from the latter authority, 
that only one survived him, who was thence 
surnamed Burd alane, which signifies either un~ 
equalled, or solitary. A Consolation, addressed to 
Sir Richard Maitland of Lethington, a poet and 
scholar who flourished about the middle of the 
sixteenth century, and who gives name to the 
Maitland MSS., draws a parallel betwixt his do- 
mestic misfortunes and those of the first Sir 
Richard, his great ancestor. 

" Sir William Mautlant, or Maitland, the 
eldest and sole surviving son of Sir Richard, 
ratified and confirmed, to the Monks of Dry- 
burgh, " Omnes terras quas Dominus Ricardus 
de Mautlant pater suus fecit dictis monachis in 
territorio suo de Thirlestane." Sir William is 
supposed to have died about 1315. — Crawford's 
Peerage. 

" Such were the heroes of the ballad. The 
castle of Thirlestane is situated upon the Leader, 
near the town of Lauder. Whether the present 
building, which was erected by Chancellor Mait- 
land, and improved by the Duke of Lauderdale, 
occupies the site of the ancient castle, I do not 
know ; but it still merits the epithet of a dark* 
some house. 1 find no notice of the siege in his- 
tory : but there is nothing improbable in suppos- 
ing, that the castle, during the stormy period of 
the Baliol wars, may have held out against the 
English. The creation of a nephew of Edward 
I., for the pleasure of slaying him by the hand of 
young Maitland, is a poetical license ; and may 
Sj5 induce us to place the date of the composition, 



ft 















about the reign of David II., or of his successor, 
when the real exploits of Maitland, and his 90ns, 
were in some degree obscured, as well as magni- 
fied, by the lapse of time. The inveterate hatred 
against the English, founded upon the usurpa- 
tion of Edward I., glows in every line of the 
ballad. 

" Auld Maitland is placed, by Gawin Douglas, 
bishop of Dunkeld, among the popular heroes of 
romance, in his allegorical Palice of Honour."] 

There lived a king in southern land, 
King Edward hight his name ; 

Unwordily he wore the crown, 
Till fifty years were gane. 

He had a sister's son o's ain, 

Was large of blood and bane ; 
And afterward, when he came up, 

Young Edward hight his name.* 

One day he came before the king, 
And kneel'd low on his knee — 

" A boon, a boon, my good uncle, 
I crave to ask of thee ! 

r< At our lang wars, in fair Scotland, 

I fain ha'e wished to be ; 
If fifteen hundred waled wight men 

You'll grant to ride wi' me." 

*' Thou sail ha'e thae, thou sail ha'e mae ; 

I say it sickerlie ; 
And I mysel', an auld gray man, 

Array'd your host sail see-" 

King Edward rade, king Edward ran— 

I wish him dool and pyne ! 
Till he had fifteen hundred men 

Assembled on the Tyne. 

And thrice as many at Berwicke 

Were all for battle bound, 
Who marching forth with false Dunbar, 

A ready welcome found, j- 



* Were it possible to find an authority for call- 
ing this personage Edmund, we should be a step 
nearer history; for a brother, though not a 
nephew of Edward I., so named, died in Gascony 
during an unsuccessful campaign against the 
French. — Knighton, Lib. III. cap. 8.— Scott. 

J These two fines are modern, and inserted 



They lighted on the banks of Tweed, 

And blew their coals sae het, 
And fired the Merse and Teviotdale, 

All in an evening late. 

As they fared up o'er Lammermore, 
They burned baith up and down, 

Untill they came to a darksome house ! 
Some call it Leader-Town. 

" Wha hauds this house ?" young Edward 
cry'd, 

" Or wha gi'es't ower to me ?" 
A gray-hair'd knight set up his head, 

And crackit right crousely : 

" Of Scotland's king I haud my house ; 

He pays me meat and fee ; 
And I will keep my gude auld house, 

While my house will keep me." 

They laid their sowies to the wall,| 

Wi' mony a heavy peal ; 
But he threw ower to them agen 

Baith pitch and tar barrel. 



to complete the verse. Dunbar, the fortress of 
Patrick, Earl of March, was too often opened to 
the English, by the treachery of that baron, dur- 
ing the reign of Edward I. — Scott. 

^ In this and the following verse, the attack 
and defence of a fortress, during the thirteenth 
and foui'teenth centuries, is described accurately 
and concisely. The sow was a military engine, 
resembling the Roman testudo. It was framed 
of wood, covered with hides, and mounted on 
wheels, so that, being rolled forward to the foot 
of the besieged wall, it served as a shed, or cover, 
to defend the miners, or those who wrought the 
battering-ram, from the stones and arrows of the 
garrison. In the course of the famous defence 
made by Black Agnes, Countess of March, of her 
husband's castle of Dunbar, Montague, Earl of 
Salisbury, who commanded the besiegers, caused 
one of these engines to be wheeled up to the wall. 
The countess, who, with her damsels, kept her 
station on the battlements, and affected to wipe 
off with her handkerchief the dust raised by the 
stones hurled from the English machines, await- 
ed the approach of this new engine of assault. 
" Beware, Montague," she exclaimed, while the 
fragment of a rock was discharged from the wall 
— " Beware, Montague ! for farrow shall thy 



BORDER BALLADS. 



399 



With springalds, stanes, and gads of aim, 

Among them fast he threw ; 
Till mony of the Englishmen 

About the wall he slew. 



eow !" Their cover being dashed to pieces, the as- 
sailants, with great loss and difficulty, scrambled 
back to their trenches. " By the regard of suche 
a lady," would Eroissart have said, " and by her 
comforting, a man ought to be worth two men, 
at need." The sow was called by the French 
truie. — See Hailes' Annals, Vol. II. p. 89 Wyn- 
town's Cronykil, Book Till. William of Malmes- 
bury, Lib. IV. 

The memory of the sow is preserved in Scot- 
land by two trifling circumstances. The name 
given to an oblong hay-stack, is a hay-sow ; and 
this may give us a good idea of the form of the 
machine. Children also play at a game with 
cherry-s tones, placing a small heap on the 
ground, which they term a sowie, endeavouring 
to hit it, by throwing single cherry-stones, as 
the sow was formerly battered from the walls of 
the besieged fortress. My companions, at the 
High School of Edinburgh, will remember what 
was meant by herrying a sowie. It is strange to 
find traces of military antiquities in the occupa- 
tion of the husbandman and the sports of chil- 
dren. 

The pitch and tar-barrels of Maitland were in- 
tended to consume the formidable machines of 
the English. 

The springalds, used in defence of the castle 
of Lauder, were lalista?, or large cross-bows, 
wrought by machinery, and capable of throwing 
stones, beams, and huge darts. They were 
numbered among the heavy artillery of the age ; 
" Than the kynge made all his navy to draw 
along, by the cost of the Downes, every ship well 
garnished with bombardes, cros-bowes, archers, 
springalls, and other artillarie." — Froissart. 

Goads, or sharpened bars of iron, were an ob ■ 
vious and formidable missile weapon. Thus, at 
the assault of Rochemiglion, " They within cast 
out great barres of iron, and pots with lyme, 
wherewith they hurt divers Englishmen, such as 
adventured themselves too far.'* — Eroissart, vol. 
I. cap. 108. 

From what has been noticed, the attack and 
defence of Lauder castle will be found strictly 
conformable to the manners of the age ; a cir- 
cumstance of great importance, in judging of the 
antiquity of the ballad. There is no mention of 



Full fifteen days that braid host lay, 
Sieging Auld Maitland keen, 

Syne they ha'e left him, hail and fair, 
Within his strength of stane. 

Then fifteen barks, all gaily good, 

Met them upon a day, 
Which they did lade with as much sroil 

As they could bear away. 

" England's our ain by heritage ; 

And what can us withstand, 
Now we ha e conquer'd fair Scotland, 

With buckler, bow, and brand . J " 



Then they are on to the land o' France, 

Where auld king Edward lay, 
Burning baith castle, tower, and town. 

That he met in his way. 

Untill he came unto that town, 
Which some call Billop-G-race ; " 

There were Auld Maitland's suns, a' three, 
Learning at school, alas ! 

The eldest to the youngest said, 

" O see ye what I see ? 
Gin a' be trew yon standad says, f 

We're fatherlesse a' three. 

" For Scotland's conquer'd, up and down ; 
Landmen we'll never be : 



guns, though these became so common in the 
latter part of the reign of Edward III., that at 
the siege of St Maloes, " the English had well 
I a four hondred gonnes, who shot day and night 
. into the fortresse, and agaynst it." — Eroissart, 
' vol. I. cap. 336. Barbour informs us, that guns, 
| or " crakis of wer," as he calls them, and crests 
for helmets, were first seen by the Scottish, in 
; their skirmishes with Edward the Third's host, 

in Northumberland, A. D. 1327.— Scott. 
| * If this be a Flemish, or Scottish, corruption 
j for Ville de Giace, in Normandy, that town was 
never besieged by Edward I., whose wars in 
; France were confined to the province of Gas- 
cony. The rapid change of scene, from Scotland 
| to France, excites a suspicion that some verses 
i may have been lost in this place. — Scott. 
J f Edward had quartered the arms of Scotland 
k with his own. — Scott. 






£%■ 



c 



Now, will ye go, my brethren two, 
And try some jeopardy ?"•• 

Then they ha'e saddled twa black horse, 

Twa black horse, and a grey; 
And they are on to king Edward's host, 

Before the dawn of day. 

When they arriv'd before the host, 

They hover'd on the lay — 
" Wilt thou lend me our king's standard, 

To bear a little way ?"f 

* The romantic custom of achieving, or at- 
tempting, some desperate and perilous adventure, 
without either necessity or cause, was a peculiar, 
and perhaps the most prominent, feature of 
chivalry. It was not merely the duty, but the 
pride and delight, of a true knight, to perform 
such exploits, as no one but a madman would 
have undertaken. 1 think it is in the old French 
romance of Erec and Eneide, that an adventure, 
the access to which lay through an avenue of 
stakes, garnished with the bloody heads of the 
knights who had attempted and failed to achieve 
it, is called by the inviting title of Lajoie de la Cour. 
To be first in advancing, or last in retreating; 
to strike upon the gate of a certain fortress of the 
enemy ; to fight blindfold, or with one arm tied 
up; to carry off a banner, or to defend one; 
were often the subjects of a particular vow 
among the sons of chivalry. Until some dis- 
tinguishing exploit of this nature, a young 
knight was not said to have won his spurs ; and, 
upon some occasions, he was obliged to bear, as 
a mark of thraldom, a chain upon his arm, 
which was removed, with great ceremony, when 
his merit became conspicuous. These chains are 
noticed in the romance of Jehan de Saintre. In 
the language of German chivalry, they were 
called Ketten des Gelubdes (fetters of duty). Lord 
Herbert of Cherbury informs us, that the knights 
of the Bath were obliged to wear certain strings, 
of silk and gold, upon their left arm, until they 
had achieved some noble deed of arms. When 
Edward III. commenced his French wars, 
many of the young bachelors of England bound 
up one of their eyes with a silk ribband, and 
swore, before the peacock and the ladies, that 
they would not see with both eyes until they had 
accomplished certain deeds of arms in France. — 
Frois^art, cap. 28. 

f In all ages, and in almost all countries, the 
military standards have been objects of respect to 



' Where was thou bred ? where was thou 
born ? 
Where, or in what country ?" 



the soldiery whose duty it is to range beneath 
them, and, if necessary, to die in their defence. 
In the ages of chivalry, these ensigns were dis- 
tinguished by their shape, and by the various 
names of banners, pennons, penoncelles, &c, 
according to the number of men who were to 
fight under them. They were displayed, on 
the day of battle, with singular so emnity, 
and consigned to the charge only of such as were 
thought willing and able to defend them to the 
uttermost. When the army of Edward, the 
Black Prince, was drawn up against that of 
Henry the Bastard, king of Castile, " Than Sir 
Johan Chandos brought hi3 baner, rolled up 
togyder, to the prince, and said, * Sir, behold, 
here is my baner. I requyre you display it 
abrode, and give me leave this daye, to raise it ; 
for, Sir, 1 thanke God and you, I have land and 
heritage suffyciente to maynteyne it withal.' 
Than the prince, and King Bampeter (Bon 
Pedro,) toke the baner betwene their handes, 
and spred it abrode, the which was of sylver, a 
sharp pyle gaules, and delyvered it to hym, and 
said, ' Sir Johan, behold here youre baner; God 
sende you joye and honour thereof!' Than Sir 
Johan Chandos bare his baner to his owne com- 
panye, and sayde, ' Sirs, beholde here my baner, 
andyoures; kepe it as your owne.' And they toke 
it, and were right joyful therof, and sayd, that 
by the pleasure of God, and Saint George, they 
wold kepe and defend it to the best of their 
powers. And so the baner abode in the handes 
of a good English squyer, called William Alery, 
who bare it that day, and acquastted himself 
right nobly. 1 '— Froissart, vol. I. ch. 237. The 
loss of a banner was not only great dishonour, 
but an infinite disadvantage. At the battle of 
Cocherel, in Normandy, the flower of the com- 
batants, on each side, were engaged in the 
attack and defence of the banner of the cap tall of 
Buche, the English leader. It was planted amid 
a bush of thorns, and guarded by sixty men at 
arms, who defended it gallantly. " There were 
many rescues, and many a one hurt and cast to 
the earth, and many feats of armes dene, and 
many gret strokes given, with good axes of steel, 
that it was wonder to behold." The battle did 
not cease untill the eaptall's standard was taken 
and torn to pieces. 



y& 




" In north of England I was born ;' 
(It needed him to lie.) * 

" A knight me gat, a lady bore, 
I'm a squire of high renown ; 

I well may bear't to any king, 
That ever yet wore crowne." 

" He ne'er came of an Englishman, 

Had sic an e'e or bree 
But thou art the likest Auld Maitland, 

That ever I did see. 

" But sic a gloom on ae brow-head, 

Grant I ne'er see agane ! 
For mony of our men he slew, 

And mony put to pain." 

When Maitland heard his father's name, 

An angry man was he ! 
Then, lifting up a gilt dagger, 

Hung low down by his knee, 

He stabb'd the knight, the standard bore, 

He stabb'd him cruellie ; 
Then caught the standard by the neuk, 

And fast away rode he. 

" Now, is't na time, brothers," he cried, 

" Now, is't na time to flee ?" 
"Ay, by my sooth !" they baith replied, 

" We'll bear you company." 

The youngest turn'd him in a path, 
And drew a burnished brand, 

And fifteen of the foremost slew, 
Till back the lave did stand. 



We learn, from the following passage in 
Stowe's Chronicle, that the standard of Edward 
I. was a golden dragon. " The king entred 
Wales with an army, appointing the footmen to 
occupie the enemies in fight, whiles his horse- 
men, in a wing, set on therere battell: himselfe, 
with a power, kept his place, where he pight his 
golden dragon, unto whiche, as to a castle, the 
wounded and wearied might repair." — Scott. 

* Stratagems such as that of Maitland, were 
frequently practised with success, in consequence 
of the complete armour worn by the knights of 
the middle ages.— Scott. 



He spurr'd the grey into the path, 
Till baith his sides they bled— 

" Grey ! thou maun carry me away, 
Or my life lies in wad." 

The captain lookit ower the wa*, 

About the break o' day ; 
There he beheld the three Scots lads, 

Pursuing along the way. 

'* Pull up portcullize ! down draw-brigg ! 

My nephews are at hand ; 
And they sail lodge wi' me to-night, 

In spite of all England." 

Whene'er they came within the yate, 
They thrust their horse them frae, f 

And took three lang spears in their hands, 
Saying, " Here sail come nae mae !" 

And they shot out, and they shot in, 

Till it was fairly day ; 
When mony of the Englishmen 

About the draw-brigg lay. 

Then they ha'e yoked carts and wains, 

To ca' their dead away, 
And shot auld dykes abune the lave, 

In gutters where they lay. 

The king, at his pavilion door, 

Was heard aloud to say, 
" Last night, three o' the lads o' France 

My standard stole away. 

" Wi' a fause tale, disguised, they came, 

And wi' a fauser trayne ; 
And to regain my gave standard, 

These men were a' down slayne." 

'* It ill befits," the youngest said, 

" A crowned king to lie ; 
But, or that I taste meat and drink, 

Reproved sail he be." 



f " The lord of Hangest (pursued by. the En- 
glish) came so to the barryrs (of Vandonne) 
that were open, as his happe was, and so entred 
in therat, and than toke his speare, and turned 
him to defence, right valiantly."— Froissart, vol. 
I. chap. 367.— Scott. 

2c 




He went before king Edward strait, 

And kneel'd low on his knee ; 
" I wad ha'e leave, my lord," he said, 

' ' To speak a word wi' thee." 

The king he turn'd him round about, 

And wistua what to say — 
Quo' he, " Man, thou's ha'e leave to speak, 

Though thou should speak a' day." 

" Ye said, that three young lads o' France 

Your standard stole away, 
Wi' a fause tale, and fauser trayne, 

And mony men did slay : 

'* But we are nane the lads o' France, 

Nor e'er pretend to be ; 
We are three lads o' fair Scotland, 

Auld Maitland's sons are we ; 

" Nor is there men, in a' your host, 
Daur fight us three to three." 

" Now by my sooth," young Edward said, 
" Weel fitted ye sail be ! 

" Piercy sail with the eldest fight, 
And Ethert Lunn with thee : 

William of Lancaster the third, 
And bring your fourth to me ! 

" Kemember, Piercy, aft the Scot* 
Has cow'rd beneath thy hand : 

For every drap of Maitland blood, 
I'll gi'e a rig of land." 

He clanked Piercy ower the head, 

A deep wound and a sair, 
Till the best blood o' his bodie 

Cam' rinning down his hair. 

'* Now I've slayne ane ; slay ye the twa ; 

And that's gude companye; 
And if the twa suld slay ye baith, 

Ye'se get na help frae me." f 



* The two first lines are modern, to supply an 
imperfect stanza. — Scott. 

f According to the laws of chivalry, laws which 
were also for a long time observed in duels, when 
two or more persons were engaged on each side, 
he, who first conquered his immediate antago- 
nist, was at liberty, if he pleased, to come to the 
assistance of his companions. The play of the 



But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear, 

Had many battles seen ; 
He set the youngest wonder sair, 

Till the eldest he grew keen — 

" I am nae king, nor nae sic thing : 

My word it shanna stand ! + 
For Ethert sail a buffet bide, 

Come he beneath my brand." 

He clankit Ethert ower the head, 

A deep wound and a sair, 
Till the best blood of his bodie 

Cam' rinning ower his hair. 

"Now I've slayne twa; slaye ye the ane; 

Is na that gude companye ? 
And though the ane suld slay ye baith, 

Ye'se get na help o' me." 

The twa -some they ha'e slayne the ane ; 

They maul'd him cruellie ; § 
Then hung them over the draw-brigg, 

That all the host might see. 



Little French Lawyer turns entirely upon this 
circumstance ; and it maybe remarked through- 
out the poems of Boiardo and Ariosto : particu- 
larly in the combat of three Christian and three 
Pagan champions, in the 42d canto of Orlando 
Furioso. But doubtless a gallant knight was 
often unwilling, like young Maitland, to avail 
himself of this advantage. Something of this 
kind seems to have happened in the celebrated 
combat, fought in the presence of James II. at 
Stirling, 1449, between three French, or Flemish, 
warriors, and three noble Scottishmen, two of 
whom were of the house of Douglas. The reader 
will find a literal translation of Oliver de la 
Marche's account of this celebrated tourney, in 
Pinkerton's History, vol. I. p. 428.— Scott. 

$ Maitland's apology for retracting his pro- 
mise to stand neuter, is as cui'ious as his doing so 
is natural. The unfortunate John of France 
was wont to say, that, if truth and faith were 
banished from all the rest of the universe, they 
should still reside in the breast and the mouth of 
kings. — Scott. 

§ This is a vulgar sound, but is actually a 

phrase of romance. Tant frappant et maillent 

lex deux vassaux Vun »ur I'autre, que leurs 

heaumes, et leurs hauberts, sont tous cassez et 

j£ rompuz. — La fleur des Battailes.— Scott. 



£ Ji 



They rade their hcrse, they ran their horse, 

Then hovered on the lee ; * 
" We be three lads o' fair Scotland, 

That fain would fighting see." 

This boasting when young Edward heard, 

An angry man was he ! 
" I'll tak' yon lad, 1*11 bind yon lad, 

And bring him bound to thee !" 

** Now, God forbid," King Edward said, 

'* That ever thou suld try ! 
Three worthy leaders we ha'e lost, 

And thou the fourth wad he. 

" If thou should'st hang on yon draw-brigg, 

Blythe wad I never be !" 
But, with the poll-axe in his hand, 

Upon the brigg sprang he. f 



* The sieges, during the middle ages, fre- 
quently afforded opportunity for single combat, 
of which the scene was usually the draw -bridge, 
or barriers, of the town. The former, as the 
more desperate j. lace of battle, was frequently 
chosen by knights, who chose to break a lance 
for honour, and their ladies' love. In 1387, Sir 
William Douglas, lord of Nithisdale, upon the 
draw-bridge of the town of Carlisle, consisting of 
two beams, hardly two feet in breadth, encount- 
ered and slew, first, a single champion of Eng- 
land, and afterwards two, who attacked him 
together. — Forduni Scotichronicon, Lib. XIV. 
chap. 51. 

These combats at the barriers, or palisades, 
which formed the outer fortification of a town, 
were so frequent, that the mode of attack and 
defence was early taught to the future knight, 
and continued long to be practised in the games 
of chivalry. The custom, therefore, of defying 
the inhabitants of a besieged town to this sort of 
contest, was highly fashionable in the middle 
ages ; and an army could hardly appear before a 
place, without giving rise to a variety of com- 
bats at the barriers, which were, in general, con- 
ducted without any unfair advantage being taken 
on either part. — Scott. 

f The battle-axe, of which there are many 
kinds, was a knightly weapon, much used in 
the middle ages, as well in single combat as in 
battle. " And also there was a younge bache- 
lor, called Bertrande of Glesguyne, who, duryng 
the seige, fought wyth an Englyshman called Sir 



The first stroke that young Edward ga'e, 
He struck wi' might and mayn ; 

He clove the Haitian's helmet stout, 
And bit right nigh the brayn. 

When Maitland saw his ain blood fa' ; 

An angry roan was he \% 
He let his weapon frae him fa' ; 

And at his throat did flee. 

And thrice about he did him swing, 

Till on the grund he light, 
Where he has halden young Edward, 

Though he was great in might. 



Nycholas Dagerne : and that batayle was takenc 
thre courses wyth a speare, thre strokes wyth an 
axe, and thre wyth a dagger. And eche of these 
knyghtes bare themselves so valyantly, that they 
departed fro the felde wythout any damage, and 
they were well regarded, bothe of theyme wythyn, 
and they wythout." This happened at the siege 
of Rennes, by the Duke of Lancaster, in 1357. — 
Froissart, vol. I. cap. 175. With the same wea- 
pon Godfrey of Harcourt long defended himself, 
when surprised and defeated by the French. 
" And Sir Godfraye's men kepte no good array, 
nor dyd nat as they had promysed; moost part 
of theyme fledde ; whan Sir Godfraye sawe that, 
he sayde tohymselfe, how he had rather there be 
slayne than be taken by the Frenchmen ; there 
he toke hys axe in hys handes, and set fast the 
one legge before. the other, to stonde the more 
surely; for hys one legge was a ly tell crooked, 
but he was strong in the armes. Ther he fought 
valyantly and long: none durste well abyde hys 
strokes ; than two Frenchmen mounted ontheyr 
horses, and ranne both with their speares at 
ones at hym, and so bare him to the yerth : than 
other, that were a-fote, came wyth theyr swerdes, 
and strake hym into the body, under his harneys, 
so that ther he was slayne." — Ibid. chap. 172. 
The historian throws Sir Godfrey into a striking 
attitude of desperation. — Scott. 

$ There is a saying, that a Scottishman fights 
best after seeing his own blood. Camerarius has 
contrived to hitch this foolish proverb into a 
national compliment ; for he quotes it as an in- 
stance of the persevtring gallantry of his coun- 
trymen. " Si in pugna proprium effundi sangui- 
nem vidissent, non statim prostrato animo con- 
cedebant, sed irato potius in hostes velut furen* 
tes omnibus viribus incurrebant." — Scott. 






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404 



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A 1 



" Now let him up," King Edward cried, 

" And let him eorne to me ! 
And for the deed that thou hast done, 

Thou shalt ha'e erldonies three !" . 

" Its ne'er be said in France, nor e'er 
In Scotland, when I'm hame, 

That Edward once lay under me, 
And e'er gat up again '."* 

He pierced him thro' and thro' the heart ; 

He maul'd him cruellie ; 
Then hung him ower the draw-brigg, 

Beside the other three. 

" Now, take frae me that feather-bed ! 

Make me a bed o' strae ! 
I wish I hadna lived this day, 

To mak' my heart sae Wae. 

" If I were ance at London tower, 

Where I was wont to be, 
I never mair suld gang frae hame, 

Till borne on a bier-tree." 



* Some reciters repeat it thus : 

"That Englishman lay under me," 
which is in the true spirit of Blind Harry, who 
makes Wallace say, 



Tha 



■_-..l<i i 



lrn 



In slaying Edward, Maitland acts pitilesaiy, 
but not contrary to the laws of arms, which did 
not enjoin a knight to show mercy to his anta- 
gonist, until he yielded him, " rescue or no 
rescue." Thus, the seigneur de Languerant 
came before the walls of an English garrison, in 
Gascony, and defied any of the defenders to run 
a course with a spear : his challenge being ac- 
cepted by Bertrand Courant, the governor of 
the place, they couched their spears, like good 
knights, and dashed on their horses. Their 
spears were broke to pieces, and Languerant was 
overthrown, and lost his helmet amongst the 
horses' feet. His attendants were coming up ; 
but Bertrand drew his dagger and said, " Sir, 
yield ye my prisoner, rescue or no rescue ; els ye 
are but dead." The dismounted champion spoke 
not a word j on which, Bertrand, entering into 
fervent ire, dashed his dagger into his skull. 
Besides, the battle was not always finished by 
one warrior obtaining this advantage over the 



["Sir Ralph Evre, or Ewrie, or Evens, 

commemorated in the following lines, was one 
the bravest men of a military race. He was son 
of the first, and father of the second Lord Ewrie ; 
and was himself created a lord of parliament 
during his father's lifetime, in the 35th year of 
Henry VIII. The ballad is apparently a strain 
of gratulation upon that event. The poet, or more 
probably the reciter, has made some confusion 
in the lineage, by declaring that his hero was 
"married upon a Willoughbe." His mother, 
however, was of that family, and he was " kin to 
the Nevil and to the Percy." He was ennobled 
by Henry, on account of the vigour with which 
he prosecuted the border warfare. But after 
" harrying the Mers and Tiviotdale, and knock- 
ing at Edinburgh gate," Lord Ewrie was slain in 
the battle of Ancram moor, fought between him 
and the Earl of Angus, in 1546. 

" This song was written down by my obliging 
friend Richard Surtees, Esq. of Mainsforth, from 
the recitation of Rose Smith, of Bishop Middle- 
ham, a woman aged upwards of ninety -one, whose 
husband's father and two brothers were killed 
in the affair of 1715."— Seotfs Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border.} 

Lord Ewrie was as brave a man, 

As ever stood in his degree ; 
The king has sent him a broad letter, 

All for his courage and loyalty, f 

Lord Ewrie is of a gentill blode, 
A knighte's son sooth to say ; 

He is kin to the Nevill and to the Percy, 
And is married upon a Willowbe. 

other. In the battle of Nejara, the famous Sir 
John Chandos was overthrown, and held down, 
by a gigantic Spanish cavalier, named Martino 
Fernandez. " Then Sir John Chandos remem- 
bred of a knyfe, that he had in his bosome, and 
drew it out, and struck this Martyne so in the 
backe, and in the sydes, that he wounded him to 
dethe, as he laye upon hym." The dagger, which 
the knights employed in these close and desperate 
struggles, was called the poniard of mercy. 

Siott. 
f f Patent letters of nobility. 




IfK A noble knight him trained upp, 

Sir Rafe Bulmer is the man I mean ; * 
At Flodden field, as men do say, 
No better capten there was seen. 

He led the men of Bishopricke, 

When Thomas Ruthal bore the sway ; 

Tho' the Scottish Habsf were stout and true, 
The English bowmen wan that day. 

And since he has kepte Berwick upon T&veed, 
The town was never better kept, I wot; 

He maintained leal and order along the border, 
And still was ready to prick the Scot. 

The country then lay in great peace, 

And grain and grass was sown and won ; 

Then plenty filled the market crosse, 
"When Lord Ewrie kept Berwick town. 

With our queen's brother he hath been, £ 
And rode rough shod through Scotland of 
late ; 

They have burned the Mers and Tiviotdale, 
And knock full loud at Edinburgh gate. 

Now the king hath sent him a broad letter, 

A lord of parliament to be ; 
It were well if every nobleman 

Stood like Lord Ewrie in his degree. 




* Sir William Bulmer of Brunspeth castle, 
who is here said to have commanded the troops 
raised in the Bishopricke, in the battle of Flod- 
denfield, was descended from an ancient, and, 
at one period, noble family. The last who was 
summoned to parliament as a peer of the realm, 
was Ralph, from 1st till 23d Edward III. Sir 
William routed the Borderers, who, under the 
command of lord Home, made an excursion into 
Northumberland, previous to the battle of Flod- 
den. He is mentioned in the Metrical History 
of the battle, v. 105, &c. In the present ballad, 
he is erroneously denominated Sir Ralph Bulmer. 
Scott. 

f Hubs— contracted for Halbert, or Hobbie, 
once a common name in Scotland. — Scott. 

i The earl of Hartford, afterwards duka of 

Somerset, and brother of queen Jane Seymour, 

made a furious incursion into Scotland, in 1545. 

Scott. 



■ [* f The hero of this ballad appears to have been 
| an outlaw and deer-stealer — probably one of the 
I broken men residing upon the border. There 

are several different copies, in one of which the 
| principal personage is called Johnie of Cockielaw. 
j The stanzas of greatest merit have been selected 
I from each copy. It is sometimes said, that this 
j outlaw possessed the old castle of Morton, in 

Dumfriesshire, now ruinous : — ' Near to this 
I castle there was a park, built by Sir Thomas 
< Randolph, on the face of a very great and high 

hill ; so artificially, that, by the advantage of the 
i hill, all wild beasts, such as deers, harts, and 
j roes, and haves, did easily leap in, but could not 
j get out again ; and if any other cattle, such as 
j cows, sheep, or goats, did voluntarily leap in, or 
| were forced to do it, it is doubted if their owners 
I were permitted to get them out again.' — Account 
! of Presbytery of Penpont, apud Macfarlane's 
I MS3. Such a park would form a convenient 
[ domain to an outlaw 7 's castle, and the mention 
i of Durrisdeer, a neighbouring parish, adds weight 
I to the tradition. I have seen, on a mountain 
'; near Cailendar, a sort of pinfold, composed of 
! immense rocks, piled upon each other, which, I 
| was told, was anciently constructed for the 
1 above-mentioned purpose. The mountain is 
j thence called Hah var, or the Cove of the Giant." 
Border Minstrelsy.} 

Johnie rose up in a May morning, 
Called for water to wash his hands — 

" Gar loose to me the gude graie dogs 
That are bound wi' iron bands." 

When Johnie's mother gat word o' that, 
Her hands for dule she wrang — 

" O Johnie ! for my benison, 
To the greenwood dinna gang i 

'* Eneugh ye ha'e o' gude wheat bread, 
And eneugh o' the blude-red wine ; 

And, therefore, for nae venison, Johnie, 
I pray ye, stir frae hame." 

But Johnie's busk't up his gude bend bow, 

His arrows, ane by ane ; 
And he has gane to Durrisdeer 

To hunt the dun deer down. 



€r-J 






&■£ 









As he came down by Merriemass, 

And in by the benty line, 
There has he espied a deer lying 

Aneath a bush of ling.* 

Johnie he shot, and the dun deer lap, 
And he wounded her on the side ; 

But, atween the water and the brae, 
His hounds they laid her pride. 

And Johnie has bryttled f the deer sae weel, 
That he's had out her liver and lungs ; 

And wi' these he has feasted his bludy hounds, 
As if they had been erl's sons. 

They eat sae much o' the venison, 
And drank sae much o' the blude, 

That Johnie and a' his bludy hounds 
Fell asleep as they had been dead. 

And by there came a silly auld carle, 

An ill death mote he die ! 
Tor he's awa' to Hislinton, 

Where the seven foresters did lie. 

" What news, what news, ye gray -headed 
What news bring ye to me ?" [carle, 

" I bring nae news," said the gray-headed 
" Save what these eyes did see. [carle, 

" As I came down by Merriemass, 
And down amang the scroggs,^: 

The bonniest childe that ever I saw 
Lay sleeping amang his dogs. 

" The shirt that was upon his back 

Was o' the Holland fine ; 
The doublet which was over that 

Was o* the Lincome twine. 

" The buttons that were on his sleeve 

"Were o' the goud sae gude ; 
The gude graie hounds he lay amang, 

Their mouths were dyed wi' blude." 

Then out and spak' the first forester, 

The heid man ower them a' — 
" If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, 

Nae nearer will we draw." 



^ But up and spak' the sixth forester, 
(His sister's son was he) 
I " If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, 
We soon shall gar him dee !" 

The first flight of arrows the foresters shot,, 
They wounded him on the knee ; 

And out and spak' the seventh forester, 
" The next will gar him dee." 

Johni#s set his back against an aik, 

His fute against a stane ; 
And he has slain the seven foresters, 

He has slain them a' but ane. 

He has broke three ribs in that ane's side, 

But and his collar bane ; 
He's laid him twa-fald ower his steed, 

Bade him carry the tidings hame. 

" is there na a bonnie bird, 

Can sing as I can say ; 
Could flee away to my mother's bower, 

And tell to fetch Johnie away . J " § 



* Ling— heath. 

f Bryttled — to cut up venison. See the ancient 
Wj ballad of Chevy Chace, v. 8. 
rP^ i Scroggs— stunted trees. 



3 



The starling flew to his mother'6 window stane. 

It whistled and it sang ; 
And aye the ower word o' the tune 



Was — " Johnie tarries lang !' 



They made a rod o' the hazel bush, 
Another o' the slae-thorn tree, 

And mony mony were the men 
At fetching our Johnie. 

Then out and spak* his auld mother, 
And fast her tears did fa' — 

" Ye wadna be warned, my son Johnie, 
Frae the hunting to bide awa'. 

" Aft ha'e I brought to Breadislee 
The less gearj| and the mair, 

But I ne'er brought to Breadislee, 
What grieved my heart sae sair ! 



§ Mr Finlay has preserved the following addi- 
tional stanza, which is beautifully illustrative of 
the languor of approaching death — 

There's no a bird in a' this forest 

Will do as inickle for nae, 
As dip its wing in the wan water, 

And stiaik it on my e'e bree. 







^T~\ " But wae betyde that silly auld carle ! 
An ill death shall he dee ! 
^ For the highest tree in Merriemass 
9ij Shall be his morning's fee." 

j Now Johnie's gude bend bow is broke, 
And his gude graie dogs are slain ; 
-A nd his bodie lies dead in Durrisdeer, 
And his hunting it is done. 



JOHNIE OF BRAIDISBANK. 

[The following fragments are given by Mother- 
r ^ , well. They appear to belong to an older copy of 
the preceding ballad.] 

Johnie rose up in a May morning, 

Called for water to wash his hands hands ; 

And he is awa' to Braidisbanks, 
To ding the dun deer down down, 
To ding the dun deer down. 

Johnie lookit east and Johnie lookit west, 
And its lang before the sun sun ; 

And there did he spy the dun deer lie, 
Beneath a bush of brume brume, 
Beneath a bush o' brume. 

Johnie shot, and the dun deer lap, 
And he's woundit her in the side side ; 

Out then spake his sister's son, 

" And the neist will lay her pride pride, 
And the neist will lay her pride." 

They've eaten sae meikle o' the gude venison, 
And they've drunken sae muckle o' the 
blude blude, 

That they've fallen into as sound a sleep 
As gif that they were dead dead, 
As gif that they were dead. 

"Its doun, and its doun, and its doun doun, 
And its doun amang the scrogs scrogs ; 

And there ye'll espy twa bonnie boys lie, 
Asleep amang their dogs dogs, 
Asleep amang their dogs." 

They waukened Johnie out o' his sleep, 
And he's drawn to him his coat coat ; 

" My fingers five save me alive, 
And a stout heart fail me not not, 
And a stout heart fail me not !" 



[This is a contribution by the Rev. John Mar- 
riott, A. M., to the Border Minstrelsy. — " The 
hero of this ballad," says Sir "Walter, " was a 
native of Eskdale, and contributed not a little 
towards the raising his clan to that pre-emi- 
nence which it long maintained among the Border 
thieves, and which none indeed but the Elliots 
could dispute. He lived at the Stubholm, imme- 
diately below the junction of the Wauchope and 
the Eske; and there distinguished himself so much 
by zeal and assiduity in his professional duties, | 
that at length he found it expedient to emigrate, 
his neighbours not having learned from Sir John 
Falstaff, * that it is no sin for a man to labour in 
his vocation.' He afterwards became a celebrat- 
ed jester in the English court. In more modern 
times, he might have found a court in which his 
virtues would have entitled him to a higher 
station. He was dismissed in disgrace in the 
year 1637, for his insolent wit, of which the fol- 
lowing may serve as a specimen. One day, when 
archbishop Laud was just about to say grace 
before dinner, Archie begged permission of the 
king to perform that office in his stead ; and 
having received it, said, ' All praise to God, and 
little Laud to the deil.' The exploit detailed in 
this ballad has been preserved, with many others 
of the same kind, by tradition, and is at this time 
current in Eskdale."] 

As Akchie passed the Brockwood leys, 

He cursed the blinkan moon, 
For shouts were borne upo' the breeze 

Frae a' the hills aboon. 

A herd had marked his lingering pace, 

That e'enin' near the fauld, 
And warned his fellows to the chace, 

For he kenn'd him stout and bauld. 

A light shone frae Gilnockie tower; 

He thought, as he ran past, — 
" Johnie ance was stiff in stour, 

But hangit at the last I" — 

His load was heavy, and the way 

Was rough, and ill to find ; 
But ere he reached the Stubholm brae 

His faes were far behind. 



is 






vu? 










m 



He clamb the krae, and frae his brow 

The draps fell fast and free ; 
And when he heard a loud halloo, 

A waefu' man was he. 

O'er his left shouther, towards the muir, 

An anxious e'e he cast ; 
And oh ! when he stepped o'er the door, 

His wife she looked aghast. 

" Ah wherefore, Archie, wad ye slight 

Ilk word o' timely warning ? 
I trow ye will be ta'en the night, 

And hangit i' the morning." — 

"Now haud your tongue, ye prating wife, 

And help me as ye dow ; 
I wad be laith to lose my life 

For ae poor silly yowe." — 

They stript awa' the skin aff hand, 

Wi' a' the woo' aboon, 
There's ne'er a flesher i' the land 

Had done it half sae soon. 

They took the haggis-bag and heart, 

The heart but and the liver ; 
Alake, that siccan a noble part 

Should win intull the river J 

But Archie he has ta'en them a', 
And wrapt them i' the skin ; 

And he has thrown them o'er the wa', 
And sicht whan they fell in. 

The cradle stan's by the ingle toom, 

The bairn wi' auntie stays ; 
They clapt the carcase in its room, 

And smoored it wi' the claes. 

And down sat Archie daintilie, 

And rocked it wi' his hand ; 
Siccan a rough nourice as he 

Was not in a' the land. 

And saftlie he be^an to croon, 
'* Hush, hushabye, my dear."— 

He hadna sang to sic a tune, 
I trow, for mony a year. 

Now frae the hills they cam* in haste, 

A' rinning out o' breath.— 
" Ah, Archie, we ha'e got ye fast, 

And ye maun die the death 1 



" Aft ha'e ye thinned our master's L 
And elsewhere cast the blaine ; 

Now ye may spare your wilie words, 
For we have traced ye hame."— 

" Your sheep for warlds I wadna take ; 

Deil ha'e me if I am lying ; 
But haud your tongues for mercie's sake, 

The bairn's just at the dying. 

" If e'er I did sae fause a feat, 

As thin my neebor's faulds, 
May I be doomed the flesh to eat 

This vera cradle halds ! 

" But gin ye reck na what I swear, 
Go search the biggin thorow, 

And if ye find ae trotter there, 
Then hang me up the morrow."— 

They thought to find the stolen gear, 
They searched baith but and ben ; 

But a' was clean, and a' was clear, 
And naething could they ken. 

And what to think they couldna tell, 
They glowred at ane anither ; — 

" Sure, Patie, 'twas the deil himsel' 
That ye saw rinning hither. 

" Or aiblins Maggie's ta'en the yowe,* 
And thus beguiled your e'e." — 

" Hey, Robbie, man, and like enowe, 
For I ha'e nae rowan tree."— 

Awa' they went wi' muckle haste, 
Convinced 'twas Maggie Brown ; 

And Maggie, ere eight days were past, 
Got mair nor ae new gown. 

Then Archie turned him on his heel, 

And gamesomelie did say,— 
*' I didna think that half sae weel 

The nourice I could play." 



& 



i r ;% 



* There is no district wherein witches seem to 
have maintained a more extensive, or more re- 
cent influence than in Eskdale. It is not long 
since the system of bribery, alluded to in the 
next stanza, was carried on in that part of the 
country. The rowan-tree, or mountain-ash, is 
well known to be a sure preservative against the 
power of witchcraft. — Scutt. 



^4 



And Archie didna break his aith, 

He ate the cradled sheep ; 
I trow he wasna very laith 

Siccan a vow to keep. 

And aft s'msyne to England's king 

The story he has told ; 
And aye when he 'gan rock and sing, 

Charlie his sides wad hold. 



m 



[" This fragment, obtained from recitation in 
the Forest of Ettrick, is said to relate to the ex- 
ecution of Cockburne of Henderland, a border 
freebooter, hanged over the gate of his own 
: tower, by James V., in the course of that memo- 
rable expedition, in 1529, which was fatal to 
Johnie Armstrang, Adam Scott of Tushielaw, 
and many other marauders. The vestiges of the 
castle of Henderland are still to be traced upon 
/7">fA the farm of that name, belonging to Mr Murray 
of Henderland. They are situated near the mouth 
of the river Meggat, which falls into the lake of 
St Mary, in Selkirkshire. The adjacent country, 
which now hardly bears a single tree, is cele- 
brated by Lesly, as, in his time, affording shelter 
Sto the largest stags in Scotland. A mountain 
torrent, called Henderland Burn, rushes impe- 
tuously from the hills, through a rocky chasm, 
named the Dow-glen, and passes near the site of 
the tower. To the recesses of this glen, the wife 
of Cockburne is said to have retreated, during the 
execution of her husband; and a place, called 
the Lady's Seat, is still shown, where she is said 
to have striven to drown, amid the roar of a 
foaming cataract, the tumultuous noise, which 
announced the close of his existence. In a 
deserted burial-place, which once surrounded 
the chapel of the castle, the monument of Cock- 
burne and his lady is still shown. It is a large 
stone, broken in three parts ; but some armorial 
bearings may yet be traced, and the following 
inscription is still legible, though defaced : 

' Hebe lyes Perys of Cokburne and his 
wyfe marjorv.' 

" Tradition says, that Cockburne was surprised 
by the king, while sitting at dinner. After the 
execution, James marched rapidly forward, to 
surprise Adam Scott of Tushielaw, called the^K 



King of the Border, and sometimes the King of 
Thieves. A path through the mountains, which 
separate the vale of Ettrick from the head of 
Yarrow, is still called the King's Road, and 
seems to have been the route which he followed. 
The remains of the tower of Tushielaw are yet 
visible, overhanging the wild banks of the 
Ettrick ; and are an object of terror to the be- 
nighted peasant, from an idea of their being 
haunted by spectres. From these heights, and 7: 
through the adjacent county of Peebles, passes a 
wild path, called still the Thief s Road, from 
having been used chiefly by the marauders of the 
border." — Scott's Minstrelsy.] 






My love he built me a bonnie bower, 
And clad it a' wi' lilye flour, 
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see, 
Than my true love he built for me. 

There came a man, by middle day, 
He spied his sport, and went away ; 
And brought the king that very night, 
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. 

He slew my knight, to me sae dear ; 
He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear; 
My servants all for life did flee, 
And left me in extremitie. 

I sew'd his sheet, making my mane ; 
I watched the corpse, myself alane ; 
I watched his body, night aDd day ; 
JS T o living creature came that way. 

I took his body on my back, 

And whiles I gaed, and whilts I sat; 

I digg'd a grave, and laid him in, 

And happ'd him with the sod sae green. 

But think na ye my heart was sair, 
When I laid the moul : on his yellow hair , 
O think na ye my heart was wae, 
When I turn'd about, away to gae ? 

Nae living man I'll love again, 
Since that my lively knight is slain; 
Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair 
I'll chain my heart for evermair. 



Mp 









SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



i 



1 



i 



HugSk tje €r 



["The Graemes were a powerful and nume- 
rous elan, who chiefly inhabited the Debate- 
able Land. They were said to be of Scottish ex- 
traction, and their chief claimed his descent 
from Malice, earl of Strathcrne. In military 
service, they were more attached to England 
than to Scotland, but, in their depredations 
on both countries, they appear to have been 
very impartial; for, in the year 1600, the 
gentlemen of Cumberland alleged to Lord 
Scroope, 'that the Graemes, and their clans, 
with their children, tenants, and servants, were 
the chiefest actors in the spoil and decay of the 
country.' Accordingly, they were, at that time, 
obliged to give a bond of surety for each other's 
peaceable demeanour; from which bond, their 
numbers appear to have exceeded four hundred 
men. — See Introduction to Nicolson's History of 
Cumberland, p. cviii. 

" Richard Graeme, of the family of Netherbye, 
was one of the attendants upon Charles I., when 
prince of Wales, and accompanied him upon his 
romantic journey through France and Spain. 
The following little anecdote, which then oc- 
curred, will show, that the memory of the 
Graemes' border exploits was at that time still 
preserved. 

" ' They were now entered into the deep time 
of Lent, and could get no flesh in their inns. 
Whereupon fell out a pleasant passage, if I may 
insert it, by the way, among more serious. 
There was, near Bayonne, a herd of goats, with 
their young ones ; upon the sight whereof, Sir 
Richard Graham tells the marquis (of Bucking- 
ham), that he would snap one of the kids, and 
make some shift to carry him snug to their lodg- 
ing. Which the prince overhearing, " Why, 
Richard," says he, " do you think you may prac- 
tise here your old tricks upon the borders?" 
Upon which words, they, in the first place, gave 
the goat-herd good contentment; and then, 
while the marquis and Richard, being both on 
foot, were chasing the kid about the stack, the 
prince, from horse-back, killed him in the head, 
with a Scottish pistol. — Which circumstance, 
though trifling, may yet serve to show how his 
Royal Highness, even in such slight and sportful 
damage, had a noble sense of just dealing.' — Sir 
H. Wotton's Life of the Duke of Buckingham. 



" 1 find no traces of this particular Hughie 
Graeme, of the ballad ; but, from the menti.n 
of the Bishop, I suspect he may have been one, of 
about four hundred borderers, against whom 
bills of complaint were exhibited to Robert Ald- 
ridge, lord bishop of Carlisle, about 1553, for 
divers incursions, burnings, murders, mutila- 
tions, and spoils, by them committed. — Nicol- 
son's History, Introduction, Ixxxi. There appear 
a number of Graemes, in the specimen which we 
have of that list of delinquents. 

" There occur, in particular, 

* Ritchie Grame of Bailie, 

Will's Jock Grame, 

Fargue's Willie Grame, 

Muckle Willie Grame, 

Will Grame of Rosetrees, 

Ritchie Grame, younger, of Netherby, 

Wat Grame, called FlaughtaU, 

Will Grame, Nimble Willie, 

Will Grahame, Mickle Willie, 5 

with many others. 

" In Mr Ritson's curious and valuable collection 
of legendary poetry, entitled Ancient Songs, he 
has published this Border ditty, from a collation 
of two old black-letter copies, one in the collec- 
tion of the late John dake of Roxburghe, and 
another in the hands of John Bayne, Esq. — The 
learned editor mentions another copy, beginning, 
( Good Lord John has a-hunting gone.' The 
present edition was procured for me by my friend 
Mr William Laidlaw, in Blackhouse, and has 
been long current in Selkirkshire. Mr Ritson's 
copy has occasionally been resorted to for better 
-Scolt's Minstrelsy.] 



m 



Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane, 
He has ridden o'er moss and muir ; 

And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme, 
For stealing o' the bishop's mare. 

" Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be J 
Here hangs a broad sword by my side ; 

And if that thou canst conquer me, 
The matter it may soon be tryed." 

" I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief; 

Although thy name be Hughie the Graeme, J 
I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds, 

If God but grant me life and time." 

" Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope, 
And deal your blows as hard as you can; 

It shall be tried within an hour, 
Which of us two is the better man.' 






But as they were dealing their blows so free, ^ 
W~g\) And both so bloody at the time, 

\ii-A Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall, 

All for to take brave Hughie the Graeme. 

Then they ha'e grippit Hughie the Graeme, 

And brought him up through Carlisle town ; 
The lasses and lads stood on the walls, 
' J^ Crying, "Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er 

gae down!" 

Then ha'e they chosen a jury of men, 
j\T^2> The best that were in Carlisle * town ; 

And twelve of them cried out at once, 

" Hughie the Graeme, thou must gae 
down !" 

nJDX Then up bespak' him gude Lord Hume, f 
As he sat by the judge's knee, — 
" Twenty white owsen, my gude lord, 

J f you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me." 

" O no, no, my gude lord Hume ! 
:>c3 Forsooth and sae it mauna be ; 

>4->cA For were there but three Graemes of the name, 
{/ 'OX&J They suld be hanged a' for me." 

Vv^Y 5 ) 'Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume, 
As she sat by the judge's knee, — 
" A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge, 
^g^K If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me." 

" O no, no, my gude Lady Hume ! 

Forsooth and so it mustna be ; 
"Were he but the one Graeme of the name, 

He suld be hanged high for me." 

if If I be guilty," said Hughie the Graeme, 
" Of me my friends shall have small talk;" 

And he has louped fifteen feet and three, 

Tho' his hands they were tied behind his back. 

He looked over his left shoulder, 
And for to see what he might see ; 

There was he aware of his auld father, 
Came tearing his hair most piteously. 

" O hald your tongue, my father," he says, 
" And see that ye dinna weep for me i 

For they may ravish me o' my life, 

But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie. 



7i * Garlard — Anc. Songs, f Boles — Anc. £ 



G& ' 



"Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife ! 

The last time we came ower the muir, 
"I'was thou bereft me of my life, 

And wi' the bishop thou play'd the whore. % 

" Here, Johnie Armstrang, take thou my sword, 

That is made o' the metal sae fine ; 
And when thou comest to the English side,§ 

Remember the death of Hughie the Graeme." ^^ 



HUGHIE GRAHAM. 

[The following version of Hughie Graham, 
Burns transmitted to Johnson's Museum. He 
says he obtained it from oral tradition in Ayr- 
shire. In this version it will be seen that Stir- 
ling, not Carlisle, is made the locality of the 
song.] 

Our lords are to the mountains gane, 

A-hunting o' the fallow deer, 
And they ha'e grippit Hughie Graham 

For stealing o' the bishop's mare. 

And they ha'e tied him hand and foot, 
And led him up through Stirling town ; 

The lads and lasses met him there, 

Cried, " Hughie Graham thou art a Vjr 

" O lowse my right hand free," he says, 

" And put my braid sword in the same ; A^E/N 

He's no in Stirling town this day, 

Bare tell the tale to Hughie Graham." 

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, 

As he sat by the bishop's knee, 
" Five hundred white stots I'll gi e you, 

If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free." 



i Of the morality of Robert Aldrige, bishop of 
Carlisle, we know but little ; but his political 
and religious faith were of a stretching and ac- 
commodating texture. Anthony a AVood ob- 
serves, that there were many changes in his 
time, both in church and state ; but that the 
worthy prelate retained his offices and prefer- 
ments during them all. — Scott. 

§ Border — A.nc. Songs. 




-, 412 












r >M 



" O haud your tongue," the bishop says, 
" And wi' your pleading let me be; 

For though ten Grahams were in his coat, 
Hughie Graham this day shall dee." 

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, 
As she sat by the bishop's knee ; 

" Five hundred white pence I'll gi'e you, 
If ye'll gi'e Hughie Graham to me." 

" haud your tongue now lady fair, 
And wi' your pleading let it be, 

Although ten Grahams were in his coat, 
Its for my honour he maun dee." 

They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe, 

He looked to the gallows tree, 
Yet never colour left his cheek, 

Nor ever did he blin' his e'e. 

At length he looked round about, 

To see whatever he could spy ; 
And there he saw his auld father, 

And he was weeping bitterly. 

" O haud your tongue, my father dear, 
And wi' your weeping let it be ; 

Thy weeping 's sairer on my heart, 
Than a' that they can do to me. 

" And ye may gi'e my brother John 

My sword that's bent in the middle clear, 

And let him come at twelve c clock, 
And see me pay the bishop's mare. 

" And ye may gi'e my brother James 

My sword that's tent in the middle brown, 

And bid him come at four o' cluck, 
And see his brother Hugh cut down. 

"Remember me to Maggy my wife, 
The neist time ye gang o'er the mo< r, 

Tell her she staw the bishop's mare, 
Tell her she was the bishop's whore. 

" And ye may tell my kith and kin, 
I never did disgrace their blood ; 

And when they meet the bishop's cloak 
To mak' it shorter by the hood." 



®f)e Eatrt of JLakfetaa, 

OR THE 

THREE CHAMPIONS OF LIDDISDALE. 

[From "The Mountain Bard," by James Hogo. 
— " The scene of this ballad," says the Shepherd, 
"is laid in the upper parts of Liddisdale, in 
which district the several residences of the three 
champions are situated, as is also the old castle 
of Hermitage, with the farm-houses of Saughen- 
tree and Roughley. As to the authenticity of 
the story, all that I can say of it is, that I used 
to hear it told when I was a boy, by William 
Scott, a joiner of that country, and was much 
taken with some of the circumstances. Were I 
to relate it verbatim, it would only be anticipat- 
ing a great share of the poem, — One verse is 
ancient, beginning, ' O wae be to thee,' &c."] 

"0 Dickie, 'tis light, and the moon shines 
bright, 

Will ye gang and watch the deer wi' me ?" 
" Ay, by my sooth, at the turn o' the night, 

We'll drive the holm of the Saughentree." 

The moon had turned the roof of heaven ; 

The ground lay deep in drifted snaw ; 
The Hermitage bell had rung eleven, 

And our yeomen watched behind the ha' ! 

The deer was skight, and the snaw was light, 
And never a blood-drap could they draw, 

" Now by my sooth," cried Dickie then, 
" There's something yonder will fear us a.' 

" Right owre the knowe where Liddel lies, — 
Nae wonder that it derkens my e'e, 

See yonder's a thing of fearsome size, 
And its moving this way hastilye. 

" Say, what is yon, my brother John ? 

The Lord preserve baith you and me ! 
But our hearts are the same, and sure our aim, 

And he that comes near these bullets shall 
prie." 

" O haud your tongue, my brother dear, 

Let us survey't wi' steady e'e ; 
'Tis a dead man they are carrying here, 

And 'tis fit that the family warned should be." 










They ran to the ha', and they wakened them a', 
But none were at home but maidens three ; 

Then close in the 9hade of the wall they staid, 
To watch what the issue of this would be. 

And there they saw a dismal sight, 

A sight had nearly freezed their blood ; 

One lost her sight in the fair moon -light, 
And one of them fainted where they stood. 

Four stalwart men, on arms so bright, 

Came bearing a corpse with many a wound ; 

His habit bespoke him a lord or knight ; 
And his fair ringlets swept the ground. 

They heard one to another say — 

" A place to leave him will not be found ; 
The door is locked, and the key away, 

In the byre will we lay him down." 

Then into the byre the corpse they bore, 
And away they fled right speedilye ; 

The rest took shelter behind the door, 
In wild amazement as well might be. 

And into the byre no ane durst gang, 

Nc, not for the life of his bodye ; 
But the blood on the snaw was trailed alang, 

And they kend a' wasna as it should be. 

Next morning all the dalesmen ran, 
For soon the word was far and wide; 

And there lay the Laird of Laivistan, 
The bravest knight on the Border side ! 

He was wounded behind, and wounded before, 
And cloven through the left cheek-bone , 

And clad in the habit he daily wore ; 

But his sword, and his belt, and his bonnet 
were gone. 

Then east and west the word has gane, 
And soon to Branxholm ha' it flew, 

That Elliot of Lairistan he was slain, 
And how or why no living knew. 

Buccleuch has mounted his milk-white steed, 
With fifty knights in his company ; 

To Hermitage castle they rode with speed, 
Where all the dale was summoned to be. 

And soon they came, a numerous host, 

And they swore and touched the fair bodye -, 
But Jocky o' Millburn he was lost. 



" Now wae be to thee, Armstrong o' Millburn ! 

And O an ill death may'st thou dee ! 
Thou hast put down brave Lairistan> 

But his equal thou wilt never be. 

" The Bewcastle men may ramp and rave, 
And drive away the Liddisdale kye : 

For now is our guardian laid in his grave, 
And Branxholm and Thirlestane distant lye." 

The dalesmen thus his loss deplore, 

And every one his virtues tell : 
His hounds lay howling at the door, 

His hawks flew idle o'er the fell. 



When three long years were come and gone, 
Two shepherds sat on Eoughley hill ; 

And aye they sighed and made their moan. 
O'er the present times that looked so ill. 

" Our young king lives at London town, 
Buccleuch must bear him companye ; 

And Thirlestane 's all to flinders gone, 
And who shall our protector be ? 

" And jealous of the Stuart race, 
The English lords begin to thraw ; 

The land is in a piteous case, 
When subjects rise against the law. 

" Our grief and ruin are forespoke, 
The nation has received a stain — 

A stain like that on Sundup's cloak, 
That never will wash out again." 

Amazement kythed in the shepherd's face, 
His mouth to open wide began ; 

He stared and looked from place to place, 
As things across his inem'ry ran. 

The broidered cloak of gaudy green, 
Which Sundup wore, and was sae gay, 

For three lang years had ne'er been seen, 
At chapel, raid, nor holiday. 

Once on a night he overheard, 
From two old dames of southron land, 

A tide the which he greatly feared, 
But ne'er could th'roughly understand 

" Now tell me, neighbour, tell me true ; 

Your sim'lie bodes us little good ; 
I fear the cloak you mentioned now, — 






Wb 



And could not be found in the hale countrye. ^ I fear 'tis stained with noble blood '." 



o 



" Indeed, my friend, you've guessed aright ; 

I never meant to tell to man 
That tale ; but crimes will come to light, 

Let human wits do what they can. 

" But He, who ruleth wise and well, 
Hath ordered from his seat on high, 

That aye since valiant Elliot fell, 
That mantle bears the purple dye. 

" And all the waters in Liddisdale, 
And all that lash the British shore, 

Can ne'er wash out the wond'rous maele ! 
It still seems fresh with purple gore." 

Then east and west the word is gane, 
And soon to Branxholm ha' it flew ; 

And Halbert o' Sundup he was ta'en, 

And brought before the proud Buccleuch. 

The cloak was hung in open hall, 

Where ladies and lords of high degree, 

And many a one, both great and small, 
Were struck with awe the same to see. 

" Now tell me, Sundup," said Buccleuch, 
" Is this the judgment of G-od on high ? 

If that be Elliot's blood we view, 

False Sundup ! thou shalt surely die !" 

Then Halbert turned him where he stood, 
And wiped the round tear frae his e'e ; 

" That blood, my lord, is Elliot's blood ; 
I winna keep in the truth frae thee." 



'' O ever-alack !" said good Buccleuch, 
" If that be true thou tell'st to me, 

On the highest tree in Branxholm-heuch, 
Stout Sundup, thou must hangit be." 

' 'Tis Elliot's blood, my lord, 'tis true ; 

And Elliot's death was wrought by me ; 
And were the deed again to do, 
I'd do't in spite of hell and thee. 

" My sister, brave Jock Armstrong's bride, 
The fairest flower of Liddisdale, 

By Lairistan foully was betrayed, 
And roundly has he payed the mail. 

" We watched him in her secret bower, 
And found her to his bosom prest: 

He begged to have his broad claymore, 
And dared us both to do our best. 



' Perhaps, my lord, ye'll truly say, 

In rage from laws of arms we swerved : 
Though Lairistan got double play, 
'Twas fairer play than he deserved. 

" We might have killed him in the dark, 
When in the lady's arms lay he ; 

We might have killed him in his sark, 
Yet gave him room to fight or flee. 

" ' Come on then,' gallant Millburn cried, 
' My single arm shall do the deed ; 

Or heavenly justice is denied, 
Or that false heart of thine shall bleed.' 

" Then to't they fell, both sharp and snell, 
With steady hand and watchful een, 

From both the trickling blood -drops fell, 
And the words of death were said between. 

" The first stroke Millburn to him gave, 

He ript his bosom to the bone ; 
Though Armstrong was a yeoman brave, 

Like Elliot living there was none. 

" His growth was like the border oak ; 

His strength the bison's strength outvied ; 
His courage like the mountain rock; 

For skill his man he never tried. 

" Oft had we three on border fray, 
Made chiefs and armies stand in awe; 

And little weened to see the day 
On other deadly thus to draw. 

" The first wound that brave Millburn got, 
The tear of rage rowed in his e'e ; 

The next stroke that brave Millburn got, 
The blood ran dreeping to his knee. 

" My sword I gripped into my hand, 
And fast to his assistance ran ; — 

What could Ido. J I could not stand 
And see the base deceiver win. 

" 'Now turn,' I cried, 'Thou limmer loun ! 

Turn round and change a blow with me, 
Or by the righteous Powers aboon, 

I'll hew the arm from thy bodye.' 

" He turned with many a haughty word, 
And lounged and passed most furiouslye ; 

But, with one slap of my broad sword, 
I brought the traitor to Ms knee. 



w 



?R\ 




m 



" ' Now take thou that,' stout Armstrong cried, $> 
' For all the pain thou'st gi'en to me;' 

(Though then he shortly would have died) 
And ran him through the fair bodye." 

Buccleuch's stern look began to change, 

To tine a warrior loth was he ; 
The crime was called a brave revenge, 

And Halbert of Sundup was set free. 



Then every man for Millburn mourned, 
And wished him to enjoy his own ; 

But Millburn never more returned, 

Till ten long years were come and gone. 

Then loud alarms through England ring, 
And deeds of death and dool began ; 

The commons rose against the king, 
And friends to diff rent parties ran. 

The nobles join the royal train, 

And soon his ranks with grandeur fill ; 

They sought their foes with might and main, 
And found them lying on Edgehill. 

The trumpets blew, the bullets flew, 
And long and bloody was the fray ; 

At length o'erpowered, the rebel crew 
Before the royal troops gave way. 

" Who was the man," Lord Lindsey cried, 
* That fought so well through all the fray ? 

Whose coat of rags, together tied, 
Seems to have seen a better day. 

"Such bravery in so poor array, 

I never in my life did see ; 
His valour three times turned the day, 

When we were on the point to flee." 

Then up there spoke a man of note, 

Who stood beside his majestye, 
" My liege, the man's a Border Scot, 

Who volunteered to fight for thee. 

" He says you're kind, but counselled ill, 
And sit unstable on your throne, 

But had he power unto his will, 

He swears he'd kill the dogs each one." 

The king he smiled, and said aloud, 
" Go bring the valiant Scot to me ; 

When we have all our foes subdued, 
The lord of Liddel he shall be." 



The king gave him his gay gold ring, 
And made him there a belted knight. 

But Millburn bled to save his king, 
The king to save his royal right. 



[" This ballad," says the Ettrick Shepherd, 
j " was written by my nephew, Robert Hogg, stU' 
| dent in the College of Edinburgh, on purpose 
| for insertion in the Edinburgh Annual Register. 
j He brought it to me, and I went over it with 
! him, and was so delighted with the humour of 
the piece, that I advised him to send it with his 
name. The editor, however, declined inserting 
it; and it is here published, word for word, as 
sent to him. A natural inclination to admire 
youthful efforts may make me judge partially; 
but, I think, if it is not a good imitation of the 
old Border ballad, I never saw one. The old 
castle of Hawkshaw was situated in a wild dell, 
a little to the westward of the farm-house of that 
name, which stands in the glen of Fruid in 
Tweedsmuir. It was built, and inhabited long, 
by the Porteouses, an ancient family of that dis- 
trict. A knight of the name of Sir Patrick Por- 
teous of Hawkshaw was living in a. d. 1600. His 
eldest daughter Janet was married to Scott of 
Thirlstane. All the places mentioned are in the 
direct line from Hawkshaw to Tarras, a wild 
and romantic little river between the Ewes and 
Liddel. The names of the warriors inserted, are 
those of families proven to be residing in the 
district at the same period of time with Patrick 
1 Porteous. I cannot find that the ballad is 
j founded on any fact or traditionary tale, save 
! that Porteous once, having twenty English 
prisoners, of whom he was tired, took them out 
to the top of a hill called the Fala Moss, and 
caused his men fell them one by one with a mail, 
and fling them into a large hole for burial. 
Whilst they were busy with some of the hind- 
most, one of those previously felled started up 
from the pit and ran off. He was pursued for a 
long way, and at last, being hard pressed, he 
threw himself over a linn in Glen-Craigie, and 
killed himself. As the pit in which they were 
buried was in a moss, some of their bones were 
distinguishable by the shepherds, who digged for 
them, only a few years ago."] 



jW 



Pate Porteous sat in Hawkshaw tower, 
An' O right douf an' dour was he ; 

Nae voice of joy was i' the ha', 
Nae sound o' mirth or revelry. 

His brow was hung wi' froward scowl, 
His e'e was dark as dark could be ; 

An' aye he strade across the ha', 

An' thus he spoke right boisterouslye : 

"Yestreen, on Hawkshaw hills o* green, 
My flocks in peace an' safety strayed ; 

To-day, nor ewe, nor steer, is seen 
On a' my baronie sae braid : 

" But I will won, an haud my ain, 

Wi' ony wight on Border side ; 
Make ready then, my merry men a', 

Make ready, swiftly we maun ride. 

'* G-ae saddle me my coal-black steed, 
Gae saddle me my bonnie gray, 

An' warder, sound the rising note, 
For we ha'e far to ride or day." 

The slogan jar was heard afar, 

An' soon owre hill, owre holt, an' brae, 
His merry men came riding in, 

All armed an' mounted for the fray. 

As they fared oure the saddle-yoke, 

The moon rase owre the Merk-side bree ; 

" Welcome, auld dame," Pate Porteous cried, 
" Aft ha'e ye proved a friend to me. 

" G-in thou keep on, but clud or mist, 

Until Glendarig steps we won, 
I'll let you see as brave a chace 

As ever down the Esk was run." 

As they rade down by Rangecleuch ford, 
They met Tam Bold o' Kirkhope town ; 

" Now whar gang ye, thou rank reaver, 
Beneath the ae light o' the moon ?" 

" When ye were last at Hawkshaw ha', 
Tam Bold, I had a stock right guid ; 

Now I ha'e neither cow nor ewe 
On a' the bonnie braes o' Fruid." 

" ever alak !" quo' auld Tam Bold, 
" Now, Pate, for thee my heart is wae; 

I saw your flocks gang owre the muir 
O' Wingate by the skreigh o' day. 



" Pate, ye maun ride for Liddel side, 

An' tarry at the Tarras lair ; 
Gin they get owre the Border line, 

Your ewes an' kye you'll see nae mair." 

As they rade owre by Sorbie-swire, 
The day-light glimmered on the lea; 

" O, lak-a-day ! my bonnie gray, 
I find ye plaittin' at the knee. 

" Streek gin ye dow to Tarras flow, 

On you depends your master's a', 
An' ye's be fed wi' bread an' wine, 

When ye gang hame to Hawkshaw ha'." 

They spurred owre moss, owre muir an' fell, 
Till mony a naig he swarPd away ; 

At length they wan the Tarras moss, 
An' lightit at the skreigh o' day. 

The stots came rowtin' up the bent, 

Tossin' their white horns to the sun ; ■ 

" Now, by my sooth !" Pate Porteous cried, 
" My owsen will be hard to won." 

Up came the captain o' the gang, 

I wat a stalwart lad was he ; 
" What lowns are ye," he bauldly cried, 

" That dare to stop my kye an' me ?" 

" Light down, light down, thou fause Southron, 

An' sey a skelp or twa wi' me, 
For ye ha'e reaved my flocks an' kye, 

An', by my sooth, reveng'd I'll be. 

" It's ne'er be said a Tweeddale knight 

Was tamely harried o' his gear, 
That Pate o' Hawkshaw e'er was cowed, 

Or braved by Southron arm iu weir." 

Then up an' spak' the English chief, 

A dauntless blade I wat was he, 
" Now wha are ye, ye saucy lown, 

That speaks thus haughtilye to me ?" 

" My name it is Pate Porteous hight, 
Light down an' try your hand wi' me, 

For by my sooth, or thou shalt yield, 
Or one of us this day shall die." 

The Southron turned him round about, 
An' lightly on the ground lap he ; 

" I rede thee, Scot, thou meet'st thy death 
If thou dar'st cross a sword wi' me ; 



BORDER BALLADS. 



417 



" Have ye ne'er heard i' reife or raide, 

O' Ringan's Rab o' Thorlberrye . J 
If ye ha'e net, ye ha'e excuse 

For cracking here sae crabbedlye. 

" But I can tell thee, muirland Pate, 

Wi' hingin' mou' an' blirtit e'e, 
Ye'll tell your wife an' bairns at name, 

How Ringan's Robin yerkit thee.-' 

Pate Porteous was a buirdly wight, 
An arm o' strength an' might bad he, 

He brooked nae fear, but made his bragg 
In deeds o' desperate devilrye. 

" Have done," he cried, " Thou stalwart 
lown, 

Thou Southron thief o' gallows fame, 
I only ken that I am wranged, 

An' thou shalt answer for the same." 

They tied their horses to the birk, 

An' drew th>.4r swords o' mettle keen; 

But sic a fray, as chanced that day, 
On Border-side was never seen. 

Pate Porteous was the first ae man 
That shawed the red blude to the e'e, 

Out o' the Southron's brawny thigh 
He carved a slice right dextrouslye, 

•' Now tak' thou that, fause Ringan's Rab, 

An' muckle good inay't do to thee, 
' 'Twill learn ye how to slice the hams 
O' my guid kye at Thorlberrye." 

" It's but a scart," quo' Ringan's Rab, 
" The stang o' a wasp is waur to bide 

But, or that we twa part again, 
I'll pay it on thy ain backside." 

" Now, fy lay on !" quo' Hawkshaw Pate, 
" Now, fy lay on, an' dinna spare; 

If frae a Southron e'er I flinch, 
I'se never wield a weapon mair." 

They fought it lang, they fought it sair, 

But scarcely doubtfu' was the day, 
When Southrons round their captain closed, 

An' shouted for the gen'ral fray. 

I 
Clash went the swords along the van ; < 

It was a gallant sight to see : 
" Lay on them, lads," cried Hawkshaw Pate, 

" Or, faith, we'll sup but sparinglye." sf? 



" Now, fy lay on !" quo' Ringan's Rab, 
" Lay on them, lads o' English blude, 

The Scottish brand i' dalesmen's hand 
'Gainst Southland weapon never stu le." 

" Lay on them, lads," cried Hawkshaw Pate, 
"Our horses lack baith hay an' corn ; 

An' we maun a' ha'e English naigs 

Out owre the Penraw Cross the morn." 

The Tweedies gart their noddles crack, 
Like auld pot-metal, yank for yank ; 

Montgomery, wi' his spearmen guid, 
He bored them trimly i' the flank. 

An' Sandy Welsh, he fought an* swore, 
An' swore an' fought fu' desperatelye ; 

But Jockie o' Talla got a skelp 

That cluve him to the left e'e-bree. 

The Murrays fought like dalesmen true, 
An' stude i' reid blude owre the shoon ; 

The Johnstons, an' the Frazers too, 
Made doughty wark or a' was done. 

The Tods an' Kerrs gaed hand an' gluve, 
An* bathed i' blude their weapons true ; 

An' Jamie o' Carterhope was there, 

An' Harstane stout, an' young Badlewe. 

Brave Norman Hunter o' Polmood, 
He stood upon the knowe sae hie, 

An', wi' his braid-bow in his hand, 
He blindit mony a Southron e'e. 

The blude ran down the Tarras bank, 
An' reddened a' the Tarras burn ; 

" Now, by my sooth," said Hawkshaw Pate, 
I never stood sae hard a turn. 

" I never saw the Southrons stand 

An' brave the braidsword half so weel." 

" Deil tak' the dogs !" cried Sandy Welsh, 
'•' 1 trow their hides are made o" steel. 

" My sword is worn unto the back, 
An* jagged and nickit like a thorn ; 

It ne'er will ser' another turn, 

But sawin' through an auld toop-horn.' 

They beat them up the Tarras bank, 
An' down the back o' Birkhope brae ; 

Had it not been the Tarras flow, 

Nae Englishman had 'scaped that day. 
2d 



118 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



There were three an thirty Englishmen 
Lay gasping on the Tarras moss, 

An' three and thirty mae were ta'en, 
An' led out ovvre the Penraw Cross. 

The Tweeddale lads gat horse an' kye, 
An' ransom gowd, an' gear their fill, 

An' aye sin' syne they bless the day 
They fought sae weel on Tarras hill. 



Pate Porteous drave his ewes an' kye 
Back to their native hills again ; 

He hadna lost a man but four, 
An' Jockie o' Talla he was ane. 

Stout Ringau's Rab gat hame wi' life, 
he was yetherit an' yerkit sair • 

But he came ovvre the Penraw Cross 
To herry Tweeddale glens nae mail*. 



BALLADS CONNECTED WITH FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



ON THE FAIRIES 

OF 

POPULAR SUPERSTITION. 

By Sir WALTER SCOTT. 
[From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.] 



Iv a work, avowedly dedicated to the preserva- 
tion of the poetry and traditions of the " olden 
time," it would be unpardonable to omit this 
opportunity of making some observations upon 
so interesting an article of the popular creed, as 
that concerning the Elves, or Fairies. The gen- 
eral idea of spirits, of a limited power, and sub- 
ordinate nature, dwelling among the woods and 
mountains, is, perhaps, common to all nations. 
But the intermixture of tribes, of languages, and 
religion, which has occurred in Europe, renders 
it difficult to trace the origin of the names which 
have been bestowed upon such spirits, and the 
primary ideas which were entertained concerning 
their manners and habits. 

The word elf, which seems to have been the 
original name of the beings, afterwards denomi- 
nated fairies, is of Gothic origin, and probably 
signified, simp'y , a spirit of a lower order. Thus, 
the Saxons had not only dun-elf en, berg-tlfeu, and |, ! 



munt-elfen, spirits of the downs, hills, and moun- 
tains ; but also feld-elfen, wudu-elfen, sae-elfen, 
and rv&ter-e/fen ; spirits of the fields, of the woods, 
of the sea, and of the waters. In Low German, 
the same latitude of expression occurs ; for night 
hags are termed aluinnen and aluen, which is 
sometimes Latinized ehus. But the prototype of 
the English elf is to be sought chiefly in the berg- 
elfen, or duergar, of the Scandinavians. From 
the most early of the Icelandic Sagas, as well as 
from the Edda itself, we learn the belief of the 
northern nations in a race of dwarfish spirits, 
inhabiting the rocky mountains, and approach- 
ing, in some respects, to the human nature. 
Their attributes, amongst which we recognize the 
features of the modern Fairy, were, supernatural 
wisdom and prescience, and skill in the mechani- 
cal arts, especially in the fabrication of arms. 
They are farther described, as capricious, vindic- 
tive, and easily irritated. The story of the elfin 
sword, Tyrfing, may be the most pleasing illus- 
tration of this position. Suafurlami, a Scandi- 
navian monarch, returning from hunting, be- 
wildered himself among the mountains. About 
sun -set he beheld a large rock, and two dwarfs 
sitting before the mouth of a cavern. The king 
drew his sword, and intercepted their retreat, by 
springing betwixt them and their recess, and 
imposed upon them the following condition of 
safety; — that they should make for him a faul- 
chion, with a baldric and scabbard of pure gold, 



420 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



and a blade which should divide stones and iron 4fe 
as a garment, and which should render the 
wielder ever victorious in battle. The elves com- 
plied with the requisition, and Suafurlami pur- 
sued his way home. Returning at the time 
appointed, the dwarfs delivered to him the fam- 
ous sword Tijrfing; then, standing in the en- 
trance of the cavern, spoke thus . — " This sword, 
king, shall destroy a man every time it is 
brandished ; but it shall perform three atrocious 
deeds, and it shall be thy bane." The king 
rushed forward with the charmed sword, and 
buried both its edges in the rock ; but the dwarfs 
escaped into their recesses.* This enchanted 
sword emitted rays like the sun, dazzling all 
against whom it was brandished ; it divided steel 
like water, and was never unsheathed without 
slaying a man. — Hervarar Saga, p. 9. Similar to 
this was the enchanted sword, Skqffhung, which I 
was taken by a pirate out of the tomb of a Nor- ! 
wegian monarch. Many such tales are narrated I 
in the Sagas ; but the most distinct account of \ 
the duergar, or elves, and their attributes, is to ! 
be found in a preface of Torfaeus to the history of j 
Hrolf Kraka, who cites a dissertation by Einar 
Grudmund, a learned native of Iceland. ** I am 
firmly of opinion," says the Icelander, " that 
these beings are creatures of God, consisting, like 
human beings, of a body and rational soul ; that I 
they are of different sexes, and capable of pro- 
ducing children, and subject to all human affec- 

* Perhaps in this, and similar tales, we may 
recognize something of real history. That the 
Fins, or ancient natives of Scandinavia, were 
driven into the mountains, by the invasion of 
Odin and his Asiatics, is sufficiently probable ; 
and there is reason to believe, that the aboriginal 
inhabitants understood, better than the intrud- 
ers, how to manufacture the produce of their own 
mines. It is therefore possible, that, in process 
of time, the oppressed Fins may have been trans- 
formed into the supernatural duergar. A similar 
transformation has taken place among the vulgar 
in Scotland, regarding the Picts, or Pechs, to 
whom they ascribe various supernatural attri- 
butes. 



tions, as sleeping and waking, laughing and 
crying, poverty and wealth ; and that they pos- 
sess cattle, and other effects, and are obnoxious 
to death, like other mortals." He proceeds to 
state, that the females of this race are capable of 
procreating with mankind ; and gives an account 
of one who bore a child to an inhabitant of Ice- 
land, for whom she claimed the privilege of bap- 
tism ; depositing the infant, for that purpose, at 
the gate of the church-yard, together with a 
goblet of gold, as an offering. — Historia Hrolf, 
Kraka, a Torfaeo. 

Similar to the traditions of the Icelanders, are 
those current among the Laplanders of Finland, 
concerning a subterranean people, gifted with 
supernatural qualities, and inhabiting the recesses 
of the earth. Resembling men in their general 
appearance, the manner of their existence and 
their habits of life, they far excel the miserable 
Laplanders in perfection of nature, felicity of 
situation, and skill in mechanical arts. From 
all these advantages, however, after the partial 
conversion of the Laplanders, the subterranean 
people have derived no farther credit, than to be 
confounded with the devils and magicians of the 
dark ages of Christianity ; a degradation which, 
as will shortly be demonstrated, has been also 
suffered by the harmless fairies of Albion, and 
indeed by the whole host of deities of learned 
Greece and mighty Rome. The ancient opinions 
are yet so firmly rooted, that the Laps of Finland, 
at this day, boast of an intercourse with these 
beings, in banquets, dances, and magical cere- 
monies, and even in the more intimate commerce 
of gallantry. They talk, with triumph, of the 
feasts which they have shared in the elfin caverns, 
where wine and tobacco, the productions of the 
Fairy region, went round in abundance, and 
whence the mortal guest, after receiving the 
kindest treatment, and the most salutary coun- 
sel, has been conducted to his tent under an 
escort of his supernatural entertainers.— Jensens, 
de 'Lapponibus. 
i The superstitions of the islands of Feroe, con- 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



421 



cerning their Froddenskemen, or under- ground < 
people, are derived from the duergar of Scandi- 
navia. These beings are supposed to inhabit the 
interior recesses of mountains, which they enter 
by invisible passages. Like the Fairies, they are 
supposed to steal human beings. " It happened," 
says Debes, p. 354, " a good while since, when 
the burghers of Bergen had the commerce of 
Feroe, that there was a man in Servaade, called 
Jonas Soideman, who was kept by spirits in a 
mountain, during the space of seven years, and 
at length came out; but lived afterwards in 
great distress and fear, lest they should again 
take him away; wherefore people were obliged 
to watch him in the night." The same author 
mentions another young man who had been car- 
ried away, and, after his return, was removed a 
second time upon the eve of his marriage. He 
returned in a short time, and narrated, that the 
spirit that had carried him away was in the 
shape of a most beautiful woman, who pressed 
him to forsake his bride, and remain with her ; 
urging her own superior beauty, and splendid 
appearance. He added, that he saw the men 
who were employed to seareh for him, and heard 
them call ; but that they could not see him, nor 
could he answer them, till, upon his determined 
refusal to listen to the spirit's persuasions, the 
spell ceased to operate. The kidney-shaped "West 
Indian bean, which is sometimes driven upon I 
the shore of the Feroes, is termed, by the natives, I 
"the Fairie's kidney." 

In these traditions of the Gothic and Finnish j 
tribes, we may recognize, with certainty, the 
rudiments of elfin superstition ; but we must 1 
look to various other causes for the modifications 
which it has undergone. These are to be sought, 
1st, in the traditions of the east -, 2d, in the 
wreck and confusion of the Gothic mythology; 
3d, in the tales of chivalry ; 4th, in the fables of 
classical antiquity; 5th, in the influence of the | 
Christian religion ; 6th, and finally, in the crea- 
tive imagination of the sixteenth century. It 
may be proper to notice the effect of these various ^ 



causes, befjre stating the popular belief of our 
own time, regarding the Fairies. 

I. To the traditions of the east, the Fairies of 
Britain owe, I think, little more than the appel- 
lation, by which they have been distinguished 
since the days of the crusade. The term " Fairy," 
occurs not only in Chaucer, and in yet older 
English authors, but also, and more frequently, 
in the romance language ; from which they seem 
to have adopted it. Ducange cites the following 
passage from Gul. Guiart, in Historia Francica, 
MS. 

Plusiers pavlent de Guenart, 
Du Lou, de L'Asne, de Renart, 
De Faerie? et de Songes', 
De phantosrnes e: de niensonges. 

The Lay le Frain, enumerating the subje-cts of 
the Breton Lays, informs us expressly, 

Many ther beth of faery. 

By some etymologists of that learned class, who 
j not only know whence words come, but also 
; whither they are going, the term Fairy, or 
[ Faerie, is derived from Fae, which is again derived 
| from Nympha. It is more probable the term is 
: of oriental origin, and is derived from the Persic, 
j through the medium of the Arabic. In Persic, 
j the term Peri expresses a species of imaginary 
being which resembles the Fairy in some of its 
qualities, and is one of the fairest creatures of 
romantic fancy. This superstition must have 
been known to the Arabs, among whom the 
Persian tales, or romances, even as early as the 
time of Mahomet, were so popular, that it re- 
quired the most terrible denunciations of that 
legislator to proscribe them. Now, in the enun- 
ciation of the Arabs, the term Peri would sound 
Fairy, the letter p not occurring in the alphabet 
of that nation : and, as the chief intercourse of 
the early crusaders was with the Arabs, or Sara- 
cens, it is probable they would adopt the term 
according to their pronunciation. Neither will 
it be considered as an objection to this opinion, 
that in Hesychius, the Ionian term Phereas, or 
Pheres, denotes the satyrs of classical antiquity, 



422 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



if the number of words of oriental origin in that 
lexicographer be recollected. Of the Persian 
Peris, Ouseley, in his "Persian Miscellanies," 
has described some characteristic traits, with all 
the luxuriance of a fancy impregnated with the 
oriental association of ideas. However vaguely 
their nature and appearance is described, they 
are uniformly represented as gentle, amiable 
females, to whose character beneficence and 
beauty are essential. None of them are mis- 
chievous or malignant: none of them are de- 
formed or diminutive, like the Gothic fairy. 
Though they correspond in beauty with our ideas 
of angels, their employments are dissimilar; and, 
as they have no place in heaven, their abode is 
different- Neither do they resemble those intel- 
ligences, whom, on account of their wisdom, the 
Platonists denominated Daemons ; nor do they 
correspond either to the guardian Genii of the 
Romans, or the celestial virgins of paradise, 
whom the Arabs denominate Houri. But the 
Peris hover in the balmy clouds, live in the 
colours of the rainbow, and, as the exquisite 
purity of their nature rejects all nourishment 
grosser than the odours of flowers, they subsist 
by inhaling the fragrance of the jessamine and 
rose. Though their existence is not commen- 
surate with the bounds of human life, they are 
not exempted from the common fate of mortals. 
— With the Peris, in Persian mythology, are 
contrasted the Dives, a race of beings, who differ 
from them in sex, appearance, and disposition. 
These are represented as of the male sex, cruel, 
wicked, and of the most hideous aspect ; or, as 
they are described by Mr Finch, "with ugly 
shapes, long horns, staring eyes, shaggy hair, 
great fangs, ugly paws, long tails, with such hor- 
rible difformity and deformity, that I wonder the 
poor women are not frightened therewith." 
Though they live very long, their lives are limited, 
and they are obnoxious to the blows of a human 
foe. Fr< m the malignancy of their nature, they 
not only wage war with mankind, but persecute 
the Peris with uiutmitting ferocity. Such are 



$ the brilliant and fanciful colours with which the 
in. aginations of the Persian poets have depicted 
the charming race of the Peris ; and, if we con- 
sider the romantic gallantry of the knights of 
chivalry, and of the crusaders, it will not appear 
improbable, that their charms might occasionally 
fascinate the fervid imagination of an amorous 
troubadour. But, further; the intercourse of 
France and Italy with the Moors of Spain, and 
the prevalence of the Arabic, as the language of 
science in the dark ages, facilitated the introduc- 
tion of their mythology amongst the nations of 
the west. Hence, the romances of France, of 
Spain, and of Italy, unite in describing the Fairy 
as an inferior spirit, in a beautiful female form, 
possessing many of the amiable qualities of the 
eastern Peri. Nay, it seems sufficiently clear, 
that the romancers borrowed from the Arabs, 
not meiely the general idea concerning those 
spii its, but even the names of individuals amongst 
them. The Peri Mergian Banou, (see Herbelot, 
ap. Peri,) celebrated in the ancient Persian po- 
etry, figures in the European romances, under 
the various names of Mourgue La Faye, sister to 
King Arthur ; Urgande La Deconnue, protectress 
of Amadis de Gaul ; and the Fata Morgana of 
Boiardo and Ariosto. The description of these 
nymphs, by the troubadours and minstrels, is in 
no respect inferior to those of the Peris. In the 
tale of Sir Launfal, in Way's Fabliaux, as well 
as in that of Sir Gruelan, in the same interesting 
collection, the reader will find the fairy of Nor- 
mandy, or Bretagne, adorned with all the splen- 
dour of eastern description. The fairy Melusina, 
also, who married Guy de Lusignan, count of 
Poictou, under condition that he should never 
attempt to intrude upon her privacy, was of this 
latter class. She bore the count many children, 
and erected for him a magnificent castle by her 
magical art- Their harmony was uninterrupted, 
until the prying husband broke the conditions of 
their union, by concealing himself, to behold his 
wife make use of her enchanted bath. Hardly 
had Melusina discovered the indiscreet intruder, 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



±>3 



than, transforming herself into a dragon, she 4k tion, those of Britain, and more especially those 



departed with a loud yell of lamentation, and 
was never again visible to mortal eyes ; although, 
even in the days of Brantome, she was supposed 
to be the protectress of her descendants, and was 
heard wailing, as she sailed upon the blast round 
the turrets of the castle of Lusignan, the night 
before it was demolished. For the full story, the 
reader may consult the Bibliotheque des Romans.* 
— Gervase of Tilbury (pp. 895 and 989,) assures 
us, that, in his days, the lovers of the Fadee, or 
Fairies, were numerous ; and describes the rules 
of their intercourse with as much accuracy, as if 
he had himself been engaged in such an affair. 
Sir David Lindsay also informs us, that a leopard 
is the proper armorial bearing of those who 
spring from such intercourse, because that beast 
is generated by adultery of the pard and lioness. 
He adds, that Merlin, the prophet, was the first 
who adopted this cognizance, because he was 
" borne of faarie in adultre, and right sua the 
first duk of Guyenne was born of a fee ; and, 
therefoir, the arms of Guyenne are a leopard." — 
MS. on Heraldry, Advocates' Library, w. 4. 13. 
While, however, the Fairy of warmer climes was | 
thus held up as an object of desire and of affec- 



* Upon this, or some similar tradition, was 
founded the notion, which the inveteracy of 
national prejudice so easily diffused in Scotland, 
that the ancestor of the English monarchs, 
Geoffrey Plantagenet, had actually married a 
daemon. Bowmaker, in order to explain the 
cruelty and ambition of Edward I., dedicates a 
chapter to show " how the kings of England are 
descended from the devil, by the mother's side." 
— Fordun, Chron. lib. 9, cap. 6. The lord of a 
certain castle, called Espervel, was unfortunate 
enough to have a wife of the same class. Having 
observed, for several years, that she always left 
the chapel before the mass was concluded, the 
baron, in a fit of obstinacy or curiosity, ordered 
his guard to detain her by force ; of which the 
consequence was, that, unable to support the 
elevation of the host, she retreated through the 
air, carrying with her one side of the chapel, and 
several of the congregation. 



of Scotland, were far from being so fortunate : 
but, retaining the unamiable qualities, and di- 
minutive size of the Gothic elves, they only 
exchanged that term for the more popular appel- 
lation of Fairies. 

II. Indeed so singularly unlucky were the 
British Fairies, that, as has already been hinted, 
amid the wreck of the Gothic mythology, conse- 
quent upon the introduction of Christianity, they 
seem to have preserved, with difficulty, their own 
distinct characteristics, while, at the same time, 
they engrossed the mischievous attributes of 
several other classes of subordinate spirits, ac- 
knowledged by the nations of the north. The 
abstraction of children, for example, the well- 
known practice of the modern Fairy, seems, by 
the ancient Gothic nations, to have rather ben 
ascribed to a species of night-mare, or hag, than 
to the berg-elfin, or duergar. In the ancient 
legend of St Margaret, of which there is a Saxo- 
Norman copy in Hickes' Thesaurus Linguar. 
Septen. and one, more modern, in the Auehinleck 
MSS., that lady encounters a fiend, whose pro- 
fession it was, among other malicious tricks, to 
injure new-born children and their mothers ; a 
practice afterwards imputed to the Fairies. Ger- 
vase of Tilbury, in the Otia Imperialia, mentions 
certain hags, or Lamice, who entered into housts 
in the night-time, to oppress the inhabitants, 
while asleep, injure their persons and property, 
and carry off their children. He likewise men- 
tions the Bracce, a sort of water spirits, who in- 
veigle women and children into the recesses 
which they inhabit, beneath lakes and rivers, by 
floating past them, on the surface of the water, 
in the shape of gold rings, or cups. The women, 
thus seized, are employed as nurses, and, after 
seven years, are permitted to revisit earth. Ger- 
vase mentions one woman, in particular, who 
had been allured by observing a wooden dish, or 
cup, float by her, while washing clothes in a river 
Being seized as soon as she reached the depths, 
she was conducted into one of these subterranean 



124 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



recesses, which she described as very magnificent, $ 
and employed as nurse to one of the brood of the 
hag who had allured her. During her residence 
in this capacity, having accidentally touched one 
of her eyes with an ointment of serpent's grease, 
she perceived, at her return to the world, that 
she had acquired the faculty of seeing the dracce, 
when they intermingle themselves with men. 
Of this power she was, however, deprived by the 
touch of her ghostly mistress, whom she had one 
day incautiously addressed. It is a curious fact; 
that this story, in almost all its parts, is current 
in both the Highlands and Lowlands of Scotland, 
with no other variation than the substitution of 
Fairies for dracce, and the cavern of a hill for that 
of a river. * These water fiends are thus charac- 
terized by Heywood, in the Hierarchic — 

" Spirits, that have o'er water gouvernement, 
Are to mankind alike malevolent ; 
Tliey trouble seas, floods, rivers, brookes, and wels, 
Meres, lakes, and love to enhabit watry cells ; 
Hence noisome and pestiferous vapours raise ; 
Besides, they men encounter divers ways. 

* Indeed, many of the vulgar account it ex- 
tremely dangerous to touch any thing, which 
they may happen to find, without saining (bless- 
ing) it, the snares of the enemy being notorious 
and well attested. A poor woman of Tiviotdale, 
-having been fortunate enough, as she thought 
herself, to find a wooden beetle, at the very time 
when she needed such an implement, seized it 
without pronouncing the proper blessing, and, 
carrying it home, laid it above her bed, to be 
ready for employment in the morning. At mid- 
night, the window of her cottage opened, and a 
loud voice was heard, calling upon some one 
within, by a strange and uncouth name, which I 
have forgotten. The terrified cottager ejaculated 
a prayer, which, we may suppose, insured her 
personal safety ; while the enchanted implement 
of housewifery, tumbling from the bedstead, de- 
parted by the window with no small noise and 
precipitation. In a humorous fugitive tract, 
the late Dr Johnson is introduced as disputing 
the authenticity of an apparition, merely because 
the spirit assumed the shape of a tea-pot, and of 
a shoulder of mutton. No doubt, a case so much 
in puint, as that we have now quoted, would 
have removed his incredulity. 



At wreckes some present are ; another sort, 

Ready to cramp their joints that swim for sport: 

One kind of these, the Italians fatae name, 

Pee the French, we sybils, and the same ; 

Others white nymphs, and those that have them seen, 

Night ladies some, of which Habuudia queen. 

Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, p. 507. 

The following Frisian superstition, related by 
Schott, in his " Physica Curiosa," p 362, on the 
authority of Cornelius a Kempen, coincides more 
accurately with the popular opinions concerning 
the Fairies, than even the dracce of Gervase, or 
the water-spirits of Thomas Heywood. — " In the 
time of the emperor Lotharius, in 830," says he, 
" many spectres infested Friesland, particularly 
the white nymphs of the ancients, which the mo- 
derns denominate ruitte rviven, who inhabited a 
subterraneous cavern, formed in a wonderful 
manner, without human art, on the top of a lofty 
mountain. These were accustomed to surprise 
benighted travellers, shepherds watching their 
herds and flocks, and women newly delivered, 
with their children ; and convey them into their 
caverns, from which subterranean murmurs, the 
cries of children, the groans and lamentations of 
men, and sometimes imperfect words, and all 
kinds of musical sounds, were heard to proceed." 
The same superstition is detailed by Bekker, in his 
"World Bewitched," p. 196, of the English 
translation. As the different classes of spirits 
were gradually confounded, the abstraction of 
children seems to have been chiefly ascribed to 
the elves, or Fairies ; yet not so entirely as to ex- 
clude hags and witches from the occasional exer- 
tion of their ancient privilege. In Germany, the 
same confusion of classes has not taken place. 
In the beautiful ballads of the " Erl King," the 
" Water King," and the " Mer-Maid," we still 
recognize the ancient traditions of the Goths, 
concerning the rvald-elven, and the dracce. 

A similar superstition, concerning abstraction 
by daemons, seems, in the time of Gervase of Til- 
bury, to have pervaded the greatest part of Eu- 
rope. " In Catalonia," says the author, " there 
is a lofty mountain, named Cavagum, at the foot 
. of which runs a river with golden sands, in the 



PAIEY MYTHOLOGY, 



vicinity of which there are likewise mines of sil- 
ver. This mountain is steep, and almost inac- 
cessible. On its top, which is always covered 
with ice and snow, is a black and bottomless lake, 
into which if a stone be thrown, a tempest sud- 
denly rises : and near this lake, though invisible 
to men, is the porch of the palace of daemons. 
In a town adjacent to this mountain, named 
Junchera, lived one Peter de C'abinam. " Being 
one day teazed with the fretfulness of his young 
daughter, he, in his impatience, suddenly wished 
that the devil might take her ; when she was 
immediately borne away by the spirits. About 
seven years afterwards, an inhabitant of the same 
city, passing by the mountain, met a man, who 
complained bitterly of the burthen he was con- 
stantly forced to bear. Upon inquiring the cause 
of his complaining, as he did not seem to carry 
any load, the man related, that he had been un- 
warily devoted to the spirits by an execration, 
and that they now employed him constantly as a 
vehicle of burthen. As a proof of his assertion, 
he added, that the daughter of his fellow-citizen 
was detained by the spirits, but that they were 
willing to restore her, if her father would come 
and demand her on the mountain. Peter de 
Cabinam, on being informed of this, ascended 
the mountain to the lake, and, in the name of 
God, demanded his daughter ; when a tall, thin, 
withered figure, with wandering eyes, and almost 
bereft of understanding, was wafted to him in a 
blast of wind. After some time, the person, who 
had been employed as the vehicle of the spirits, 
also returned, when he related where the palace 
of the spirits was situated ; but added, that none 
were permitted to enter but those who devoted 
themselves entirely to the spirits; those, who 
had been rashly committed to the devil by others, 
being only permitted, during their probation, to 
enter the porch." It may be proper to observe, 
that the superstitious idea, concerning the lake 
on the top of the mountain, is common to almost 
every high hill in Scotland. Wells, or pits, on 
the top of high hills, were likewise supposed to 



lead to the subterranean habitations of the 
Fairies. Thus Gervase relates, (p. 975,) " that 
he was informed the swine-herd of William 
Peverell, an English baron, having lost a brood- 
sow, descended through a deep abyss, in the mid- 
dle of an ancient ruinous castle, situated on the 
top of a hill, called Bech, in search of it. Though 
a violent wind commonly issued from this pit, he 
found it calm ; and pursued his way, till he 
arrived at a subterraneous region, pleasant and 
cultivated, with reapers cutting down corn, 
though the snow remained on the surface of the 
ground above. Among the ears of corn he dis- 
covered his sow, and was permitted to ascend 
with her, and the pigs which she had farrowed." 
Though the author seems to think that the inha- 
bitants of this cave might be antipodes, yet, as 
many such stories are related of the Fairies, it is 
probable that this narration is of the same kind. 
Of a similar nature seems to be another supersti- 
tion, mentioned by the same author, concerning 
1 1 the ringing of invisible bells, at the hour of one, 
|| ma field in the vicinity of Carleol, which, as he 
I ' relates, was denominated Laikibraine, or Lai ki 
j j brait. From all these tales, we may perhaps be 
| justified in supposing, that the faculties and 
'< habits ascribed to the Fairies, by the superstition 
. of latter days, comprehend several, originally 
: i attributed to other classes of inferior spirits. 
: III, The notions, arising from the spirit of 
! ' chivalry, combined to add to the Fairies certain 
1 1 qualities, less atrocious indeed, but equally for- 
| ' midable, with these which they derived from the 
last-mentioned source, and alike inconsistent 
| with the powers of the duergar, whom we may 
term their primitive prototype. From an early 
! ' period, the daring temper of the northern tribes 
1 j urged them to defy even the supernatural powers. 
: ! In the days of Caesar, the Suevi were described, 
' \ by their countrymen, as a people with whom the 
'! immortal gods dared not venture to contend. 
I At a later period, the historians of Scandinavia 
j paint their heroes and champions, not as bend- 
-f ing at the altar of their deities, but wandering 



426 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



into remote forests and caverns, descending into ^ 
the recesses of the tomb, and extorting boons, 
alike from gods and daemons, by dint of the 
sword and battle-axe. I will not detain the 
reader by quoting instances in which heaven is 
thus described as having been literally attempted 
by storm. He may consult Saxo, Olaus Worm- 
ius, Olaus Magnus, Torfeeus, Bartholin, and 
other northern antiquaries. With such ideas of 
superior beings, the Normans, Saxons, and other 
Gothic tribes, brought their ardent courage to 
ferment yet more highly in the genial climes of 
the south, and under the blaze of romantic j 
chivalry. Hence, during the dark ages, the in- j 
visible world was modelled after the material ; i 
and the saints, to the protection of whom the 
knights-errant were accustomed to recommend 
themselves, were accoutred like preux chevaliers, 
by the ardent imaginations of their votaries. 
With such ideas concerning the inhabitants of 
the celestial regions, we ought not to be surprised 
to find the inferior spirits, of a more dubious 
nature and origin, equipped in the same disguise. 
Gervase of Tilbury (Otia Imperial, ap. Script, 
rer. Brunsvic, vol. i. p. 797,) relates the following 
popular story concerning a Fairy Knight. " Os- 
bert, a bold and powerful baron, visited a noble 
family in the vicinity of Wandelbury, in the 
bishopric of Ely. Among other stories related 
in the social circle of his friends, who, according 
to custom, amused each other by repeating an- 
cient tales and traditions, he was informed, that 
if any knight, unattended, entered an adjacent 
plain by moon-light, and challenged an adversary 
to appear, he would be immediately encountered 
by a spirit in the form of a knight. Osbert re- 
solved to make the experiment, and set out, 
attended by a single squire, whom he ordered to 
remain without the limits of the plain, which 
was surrounded by an ancient entrenchment. 
On repeating the challenge, he was instantly 
assailed by an adversary, whom he quickly un- 
horsed, and seized the reins of his steed. During 
this operation, his ghostly opponent sprung up, &> 



and, darting his spear, like a javelin, at Osbert, 
wounded him in the thigh. Osbert returned in 
triumph with the horse, which he committed to 
the care of his servants. The h.^rse was of a sable 
colour, as well as his whole accoutrements, and 
apparently of great beauty and vigour. He re- 
mained with his keeper till cock-crowing, when, 
with eyes flashing fire, he reared, spurned the 
ground, and vanished. On disarming himself, 
Osbert perceived that he was wounded, and that 
one of his steel boots was full of blood. Gervase 
adds, that as long as he lived, the scar of his 
wound opened afresh on the anniversary of the 
eve on which he encountered the spirit." * Less 
fortunate was the gallant Bohemian knight, who, 
travelling by night with a single companion, 
came in sight of a fairy host, arrayed under dis- 
played banners. Despising the remonstrances of 
his friend, the knight pricked forward to break 
a lance with a champion who advanced from the 
ranks, apparently in defiance. His companion 
beheld the Bohemian overthrown, horse and 
man, by his aerial adversary ; and, returning to 
the spot next morning, he found the mangled 
corpse of the knight and steed.— Hierarchie of 
Blessed Angels, p. 554. 

To the same current of warlike ideas, we may 
safely attribute the long train of military pro- 



* The unfortunate Chatterton was not, proba- 
bly, acquainted with Gervase of Tilbury ; yet he 
seems to allude, in the '* Battle of Hastings," to 
some modification of Sir Osbert's adventure : — 



The entrenchment, which served as lists for the 
combatants, is said by Gervase to have been the 
work of the Pagan invaders of Britain. In the 
metrical romance of " Arthour and Merlin," we 
have also an account of Wandlesbury being occu- 
pied by the Sarasins, £. e. the Saxons; for all 
pagans were Saracens with the romancers. I 
presume the place to have been Wodnesbury, in 
Wiltshire, situated on the remarkable mound, 
called Wandsdike, which is obviously a Saxon 
work. — Gough's Camden's Britannia, pp. 87—95. 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



42T 



cessions which the Fairies are supposed occasion- 
ally to exhibit. The elves, indeed, seem in this 
point to be identified with the aerial h"st, 
termed, during the middle ages, the Milites Her- 
likini, or Herleurini, celebrated by Pet. Blesensis, 
and termed, in the life of St Thomas of Canter- 
bury, the Familia Hdliquinii. The chief of this 
band was originally a gallant knight and wairior; 
but, having spent his whole possessions in the 
service of the emperor, and being rewarded with 
scorn, and abandoned to subordinate oppression, 
he became desperate, and, with his sons and fol- 
lowers, formed a baud of robbers. After com- 
mitting many ravages, and defeating all the 
forces sent against him, Hellequin, with his whole 
troop, fell in a bloody engagement with the Im- 
perial host. His former good life was supposed 
to save him ft om utter reprobation ; but he and 
his fullowers were condemned after death, to a 
state of wandering, which should endure till the 
last day. Retaining their military habits, they 
were usually seen in the act of justing together, 
or in similar warlike employments. See the 
ancient French Romance of Richard sans Peur. 
Similar to this was the Nacht Lager, or midnight 
camp, which seemed nightly to beleaguer the 
walls of Prague, 

" With ghastly faces thronged, and fiery arms," 
but which disappeared upon recitation of the 
magical words, Vezele, Vezele, ho! ho! ho! — For 
similar delusions, see Delrius, pp. 294, 295. 

The martial spirit of our ancestors led them to 
defy these aerial warriors ; and it is still currently 
believed, that he who has courage to rush upon 
a fairy festival, and snatch from them their 
drinking cup, or horn, shall find it prove to him 
a cornucopia of good fortune, if he can bear it in 
safety across a running stream. Such a horn is 
said to have been presented to Henry I., by a lord 
of Colchester.— Gervas. Tilb. p. 980. A goblet is 
still carefully preserved in Edenhall, Cumberland, 
which is supposed to have been seized at a ban- 
quet of the elves, by one of the ancient family of i 



■% Musgrave ; or, as others say, by one of their 
domestics, in the manner above described. Tho 
Fairy train vanished, crying aloud, 



The goblet took a name from the prophecy, 
under which it is mentioned in the burlesque 
ballad, commonly attributed to the duke of 
AVharton, but in reality composed by Lloyd, one 
of his jovial companions. The duke, after taking 
a draught, had nearly terminated the "luck of 
Edenhall," had not the butler caught the cup in 
a napkin, as it dropped from his grace's hands. 
I understand it is not now subjected to such 
risques, but the lees of wine are still appa.ent at 
the bottom. 



Some faint traces yet remain, on the borders, 
of a conflict of a mysterious and terrible nature, 
between mortals and the spirits of the wilds. 
The superstition is incidentally alluded to by 
Jackson, at the beginning of the 17th century. 
The fern seed, which is supposed to become visi- 
ble only on St John's Eve,* and at the very 
moment when the Baptist was born, is held by 
the vulgar to be under the special protection of 
the queen of Faery. But, as the seed was sup- 
posed to have the quality of rendering the pos- 



* Ne'er be I found by thee unawed, 
On that thr ce hallowed eve abroad, 
"When goblins haunt, from fire and fen, 
And wood and lake, the steps of men. 

Collins's Ode to Fear. 

The whole history of St John the Baptist was, 
by our ancestors, accounted mysterious, and con- 
nected w'.th their own superstitions. The fairy 
queen was sometimes identified with Herodias. 
— Delrii Disquisitiones Magicce, pp. 168, 807. It 
is amusing to observe with what gravity the 
learned Jesuit contends, that it is heresy to be- 
lieve that this celebrated figurante (saltatricula) 
& still leads choral dances upon earth ! 



428 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



sessor invisible at pleasure, * and to be also of 4 
sovereign use in charms and incantations, persons | 
of courage, addicted to these mysterious arts, i 
were wont to watch in solitude, to gather it at i 
the moment when it should become visible. The J 
particular charms, by which they fenced them- 
selves during this vigil, are now unknown ; but j 
it was reckoned a feat of no small danger, as the ! 
person undertaking it was exposed to the most ! 
dreadful assaults from spirits, who dreaded the ; 
effect of this powerful herb in the hands of a j 
eabalist. " Much discourse," says Richard Bovet, j 
"hath been about gathering of fern -seed, (which j 
is looked upon as a magical herb) on the night of 
Midsummer-eve ; and I remember I was told of 
one who went to gather it, and the spirits whisk't 
by his ears like bullets, and sometimes struck Irs 
hat, and other parts of his body : in fine, though 
he apprehended he had gotten a quantity of it, 
and secured it in papers, and a box besides, when 
he came home he found all empty. But, most 
probable, this appointing of times and hours is of 
the devil's own institution, as well as the fast, 
that, having once ensnared people to an obedience 
to his rules, he may with more facility oblige 
them to a stricter vassalage." — Pandmmonium, 
Lond. 1684, p. 217. Such were the shades, which 
the original superstition, concerning the Fairies, 
received from the chivalrous sentiments of the 
middle ages. 

IT. An absurd belief in the fables of classical 
antiquity lent an additional feature to the char- 
acter of the woodland spirits of whom we treat. 
Greece and Rome had not only assigned tutelary 
deities to each province and city, but had peopled, 
with peculiar spirits, the seas, the rivers, the 
woods, and the mountains. The memory of the 
pagan creed was not speedily eradicated, in the 
extensive provinces through which it was once 



* This is alluded to by Shakespeare, and other 
authors of his time : — 



" We have the receipt of fern-seed : we walk invisible." 
Henry IV. Pa»t 1st, Act 2d, Sc. 3. 



universally received ; and, in many particulars, 
it continued long to mingle with, and influence, 
the original superstitions of the Gothic nations. 
Hence, we find the elves occasionally arrayed in 
the costume of Greece and Rome, and the Fairy 
Queen and her attendants transformed into Diana 
and her nymphs, and invested with their attri- 
butes and appropriate insignia. — Delrius, pp. 168, 
807. According to the same author, the Fairy- 
Queen was also called Habundia. Like Diana, 
who, in one capacity, was denominated Hecate, 
the goddess of enchantment, the Fairy Queen is 
identified, in popular tradition, with the Gyre- 
Carline, Gay-Carline, or mother witch, of the 
Scottish peasantry. Of this personage, as an in- 
dividual, we have but few notices. She is some- 
times termed Nicneven, and is mentioned in the 
Complaynt of Scotland, by Lindsay in his Dreme, 
p. 225, edit. 1590, and in his Interludes, apud 
Pinkerton's Scottish Poems, vol. ii. p. 18. But the 
traditionary accounts regarding her are too ob- 
scure to admit of explanation. In the burlesque 
fragment subjoined, which is copied from the 
Bannatyne MS., the Gyre Carline is termed the 
Queen of Jorois ( Jovis, or perhaps Jews,) and is, 
with great consistency, married to Mohammed, f 
But chiefly in Italy were traced many dim 



f In Tyberius tyme, the trew imperatour, 

Quhen Tynto" hills fra skraiping of toun-henis was 

keipit, 
Thair dwelt ane grit Gyre Carling in awld Betokis 

bour, 
That levit upoun Christiaue menis nesche, and 

rewheids unleipit; 
Thair wynit ane hir by, on the west syde, callit 

Blasour, 
For luve of hir lauchane lippis, he walit and he 

He gadderit ane menzie of inodwartis to warp doun 

the tour : 
The Carling with ane yren club, quhen yat Blasour 
sleipit, 
Behind the heil scho hat him sic ane blaw, 
Quhil Blasour bled ane quart 
Off milk pottage inwart, 
The Carling luche, and lut a fart 
North Berwik Law. 

The king of fary than come, with elfis many ane, 
And sett ane seke, and ane salt, with grit pensallis 

of pry d; 
And all the doggis fra Dunbar was thair to Dumblane, 
i With all the tykis of Tervey, come to thame that tyd ; 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



420 



characters of ancient mythology, in the creed of 
tradition. Thus, so lately as 1536, Vulcan, with 
twenty of his Cyclops, is stated to have presented 
himself suddenly to a Spanish merchant, travel- 
ling in the night, through the forests of Sicily ; 
an apparition, which was followed by a dreadful 
eruption of Mount -£tna. — Hierarchie of Blessed 
Angels, p. 504. Of this singular mixture, the 
reader will find a curious specimen in the follow- 
ing tale, wherein the Yenus of antiquity assumes 
the manners of one of the Fays, or Fatse, of ro- 
mance. "In the year 1058, a young man of 
noble birth had been married at Rome, and, 
during the period of the nuptial feast, having 
gone with his companions to play at ball, he put 
hi3 marriage ring on the finger of a broken statue 
of Yenu3 in the area, to remain, while he was 
engaged in the recreation. Desisting from the 
exercise, he found the finger, on which he had 
put his ring, contracted firmly against the palm, 
and attempted in vain either to break it, or to 
disengage his ring. He concealed the circum- 
stance from his companions, and returned at 
night with a servant, when he found the finger 
extended, and his ring gone. He dissembled the 
loss, and returned to his wife ; but, whenever he 
attempted to embrace her, he found himself pre- 
vented by something dark and dense, which was 



Grunting cur The Greik sie, and durst na lauger byd, 
Tor bruklyng of bargane, and breiking of browis : 

The Carfing now for dispyte 

Is mareit with Mahomyte, 

And will the doggis interdyte, 

For scho fa Tquene of Jowis. 



And the henis of Hadingtoun sensyne wald not lay, 
For this wild wibroun with thame widlet sa and 

wareit ; 
And the same Xorth Berwik Law, as I heir wyvis say, 
this Carling. with a fals cast, wald away careit ; 
For to luck on quha sa lykis, na ianger scho taieit; 
All this languor for love before tymes fell, 

Lang or Betok was born, 

Scho bred of ane accorne ; 

The laif of the story to mome, 
To you I sail tede. 



S tangible, though not visible, interposing between 
j them : and he heard a voice saying, ' Embrace 
me ! for I am Yenus, whom this day you wedded, 
and I will not restore your ring.' As this was 
constantly repeated, he consulted his relations, 
who had recourse to Palumbus, a priest, skilled 
in necromancy. He directed the young man to 
go, at a certain hour of night, to a spot among 
the ruins of ancient Rome, where four roads met, 
and wait silentl) till he saw a company pass by, 
and then, without uttering a word, to deliver a 
letter, which he gave him, to a majestic being, 
who rode in a chariot, after the rest of the com- 
pany. The young man did as he was directed ; 
and saw a company of all ages, sexes, and ranks, 
on horse and on foot, some joyful and others sad, 
pass along,- among whom he distinguished a 
woman in a meretricious dress, who, from the 
tenuity of her garments, seemed almost naked. 
She rode on a mule ; her long hair, which flowed 
over her shoulders, was bound with a golden fil- 
let j and in her hand was a golden rod, with which 
she directed her mule. In the close of the pro- 
cession, a tall majestic figure appeared in a 
chariot, adorned with emeralds and pearls, who 
fiercely asked the young man, ' What he did 
there ?' He presented the letter in silence, which 
the daemon dared not refuse. As soon as he had 
read, lifting up his hands to heaven, he exclaimed, 
' Almighty God J how long wilt thou endure the 
iniquities of the sorcerer Palu.nbus !' and imme- 
diately dispatched some of his attendants, who, 
with much difficulty, extorted the ring from 
Yenus, and restored it to its owner, whose infernal 
banns were thus dissolved." — Forduni Scatichroni- 
con, vol. i. p. 407, cura Goodall. 

But it is rather in the classical character of an 
infernal deity, that the elfin queen may be consi- 
dered, than as Hecate, the patroness of magic ; 
for not only in the romance writers, but even in 
Chaucer, are the fairies identified with the an- 
cient inhabitants of the classical hell. Thus 
Chaucer, in his "Marchand's Tale," mentions 
Pluto that is king of fayrie— and 
Proserpine and all her fayrie. 



430 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



In the " Golden Terge" of Dunbar, the same < 
phraseology is adopted : Thus, 



Even so late as 1602, in Harsenet's " Declara- 
tion of Popish Imposture," p. 57, Mercury is 
called Prince of the Fairies. 

But Chaucer, and those poets who have adopted 
his phraseology, have only followed the romance 
writers ; for the same substitution occurs in the 
romance of " Orfeo and Heurodis," in which the 
story of Orpheus and Eurydice is transformed 
into a beautiful romantic tale of faery, and the 
G-othic mythology engrafted on the fables of 
Greece. Heurodis is represented as wife of Orfeo, 
and queen of Winchester, the ancient name of 
which city the romancer, with unparalleled in- 
genuity, discovers to have been Traciens, or 
Thrace. The monarch, her husband, had a sin- 
gular genealogy : — 

His fader was comen of king Pluto, 
And his moder of king Juno; 
That sum time were as godes y-holde, 
For aventours that thai dede aud tolde. 

Reposing, unwarily, at noon, under the shade of 
an ymp tree, * Heurodis dreams that she is 
accosted by the king of Fairies, 

With an hundred knights and mo, 

And damsels an hundred also, 

Al on snowe white stedes ; 

As white as milk were her wedes ; 

Y n •> seigh never yete bifore, 

So fair creatours y core : 

The kinge hadde a croun on hede, 

It nas of silver, no of golde red, 

Ac it was of a precious ston : 

As bright as the sonne it schon. 

The king of Fairies, who had obtained power 
over the queen, perhaps from her sleeping at 
noon in his domain, orders her, under the penalty 



* Ymp tree. — According to the general accep- 
tation, this only signifies a grafted tree ; whether 
it should be here understood to mean a tree con- 
secrated to the imps, or fairies, is left with the 
reader. 



of being torn to pieces, to await him to-morrow 
under the ymp tree, and accompany him to 
Fairy-Land. She relates her dream to her hus- 
band, who resolves to accompany her, and at- 
tempt her rescue : 

A morwe the under tide is come, 

And Orfeo hath his armes y-nome, 

And wele ten hundred knights with him, 

Ich y-armed stout and grim ; 

And with the quen wenten he, 

Right upon that ympe tre. 

Thai made scheltrom in iche aside, 

And sayd thai wold there abide, 

And dye ther everichon, 

Er the quen schuid fram hem gon : 

Ac yete amiddes hem ful right, 

The quen was oway y-twight, 

With Fairi forth y-nome, 

Men wizt never wher sche was become. 

After this fatal catastrophe, Orfeo, distracted 
for the loss of his queen, abandons his throne, 
and, with his harp, retires into a wilderness, 
where he subjects himself to every kind of aus- 
terity, and attracts the wild beasts by the pathetic 
melody of his harp. His state of desolation is 
poetically described ■ — 

He that werd the fowe and griis, 

And on bed the purpur biis, 

Now on the hard hethe he lith, 

With leves and gresse he him writh : 

He that had castells and tours, 

Rivers, forests, frith with flowers, 

Now thei it commence to snewe and freze, 

This king mot make his bed in mese : 

He that had y-had knightes of priis, 

Bifore him kneland and leuedis, 

Now seth he no thing that him liketh, 

Bot wild wormes bi him striketh : 

He that had y-had plente 

Of mete and drink, of iche deynte, 

Now may he al daye digge and wrote, 

Er he find his fille of rote. 

In somer he liveth bi wilde fruit, 

And verien bot gode lite. 

In winter may he no thing find, 

Bot lotes, grases, and the rinde. 

His here of his berd blac and rowe, 

To his girdel stede was growe ; 

His harp, whereon was al his gle, 

He hidde in ane holwe tre : 

And, when the weder was clere and bright, 

He toke his harp to him wel right. 

And harped at his owen will, 

Into al the wode the soun gan shill, 

That al the wild bestes that ther beth 

For joie abouten him thai teth; 

And al the foules that ther wer, 

Come and sete on ich a brere, 

To here his harping a fine, 

So rniche melody was therein. 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY: 



431 



-A t last he discovers, that he is Dot the sole in- 
habitant of this desart ; for 
He might se him besides 
Oft in hot undertides, 
The king of Fairi, with his route, 
Come to hunt him al about, 
"With dim cvi and bloweing, 
And houndes also with him berking; 
Ac no best thai no nome, 
No never he nist whider thai bi come. 
And other while he might hem se 
As a gret ost bi him te, 
■Well atourned ten hundred knightes, 
Ich y-armed to his rightes, 
Of cuntenance stout and fers, 
With mani desplaid baners ; 
And ich his sword y-drawe hold, 
Ac never he nist whider thai wold. 
And otherwhile he seighe other thing; 
Knightis and leuedis com daunceing, 
In queynt attire gisely, 
Queyete pas and softhe : 
Tabours and trumpes gede hem bi, 
And al maner menstraci. — 
And on a day he seighe him biside, 
Sexti leuedis on hors ride, 
Gentil and jolif as brid on ris; 
Nought o man amonges hem ther nis; 
And ich a faucouu on hond here, 
And riden on hauken bi o river 
Of game thai found wel gode haunt, 
Maulardes, hayroun, and cormorauut 
The foules of the water ariseth, 
Ich faucoun hem wele deviseth, 
Ich faucoun his pray slouch, 
That seize Orfeo and lough. 
" Par fay," quoth he, " there is fair game, 
Hider Ichil bi God<;s name, 
Ich was y won swich work to se:" 
He aros, and thider gan te; 
To a leuedi hi was y-come, 
Bihelde, and hath wel under nome, 
And seth, bi al thing, that is 
His owen quen, dam Heurodis ; 
Gern hi biheld her, and sche him eke, 
Ac nouther to other a word no speke : 
For messais that sche on him seighe, 
That had ben so riche and so heighe, 
The teres fel out of her eighe ; 
The other leuedis this y-seighe, 
And maked hir oway to ride, 
Sche most with him no longer obide. 
" Alias !" quoth he, " nowe is mi woe, 
Whi nil deth now me slo ! 
Alias ! too long last mi liif, 
When y no dare nought with mi wif, 
Nor hye to me o word speke; 
Alias whi nil miin hert breke ! 
Par fay," quoth he, " tide what betide, 
Whider to this leuedis ride, 
The selve way Ichil streche ; 
Of liif, no dethe, me no reche." 

In consequence, therefore, of this discover}-, 
Orfeo pursues the hawking damsels, among 
whom he has descried his lost queen. They enter 
a rock, the king continues the pursuit, and arrives 



at Fairy -land, of which the following very poeti 
cal description is given : — 

In at a roche the leuedis rideth, 
ADd he afer and nought abidcth; 
When he was in the roche y-go, 
Wele thre mile other mo, 
' He com into a fair cuntray, 
As bright soonne somers day, 
Smothe and plain and al grene, 
Hill no dale nas none ysene. 
Amiddle the lond a castel he seighe, 
Rich and reale and wonder heighe; 
Al the utmast wal 
Was cler and schine of cristal; 
An hundred tours ther were about, 
Degiselich and bataild stout; 
The butrass come out of the diche, 
Of rede gold y-arched riche ; 
The bousour was anowed al, 
Of ich maner deuers animal; 
Within ther wer wide wones 
Al of precious stones, 
The werss piler onto biholde, 
Was al of burnist gold: 
Al that lond was ever light, 
Per when it schuld be therk and night, 
The riche stonnes light gonne, 
Bright as doth at nonne the sonne : 
No man may tel, no thenke in thought, 
The riche werk that ther was rought. 



Than he gan biholde about al, 
And seighe ful liggeand with in the w?.l, 
Of folk that wer thidder y-brought, 
And thought dede and nere nought; 
Sum stode with outen hadde ; 
And some none amies nade; 
And sum thurch the bodi hadde wounde; 
And sum lay wode y-bounde ; 
And sum armed on hors sete; 
And sum astrangled as thai ete; 
And sum war in water adreynt ; 
And sum with fire all for schreynt; 
Wives ther lay on childe bedde, 
Sum dede, and sum awedde ; 
And wonder fele ther lay besides, 
Right as thai slepe her undertides ; 
Eche was thus in this warld y-nome, 
With fairi thider y-come.* 
There he seize his owhen wiif, 
Dame Heurodis, his liif liif, 
Slepe under an ympe tree : 
Bi her clothes he knewe that it was he. 

And when he had bihold this niervpiu ai e 
He went into the kinges halle ; 
Then seigh he there a semly sight, 
A tabernacle blisseful and bright; 
Ther in her maister king sete, 
And her quen fair and swete ; 
Her crounes, her clothes schine so bright, 
That unnethe bihold he hem might. 

Orfeo and Heurodis, M S . 



* It wa3 perhaps from such a description that Ariosto 
adopted his idea of the Lunar Paradise, containing every 
jj? .king that on earth was stolen or lost. 



432 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Orfeo, as a minstrel, so charms the Fairy King 
with the music of his harp, that he promises to 
grant him whatever he should ask. He imme- 
diately demands his lost Heurodis; and, return- 
ing safely with her to Winchester, resumes his 
authority ; a catastrophe, less pathetic indeed, 
but more pleasing, than that of the classical 
story. The circumstances, mentioned in this 
romantic legend, correspond very exactly with 
popular tradition. Almost all the writers on 
daemonology mention, as a received opinion, that 
the power of the daemons is most predominant at 
noon and midnight. The entrance to the Land 
of Faery is placed in the wilderness; a circum- 
stance which coincides with a passage in Lindsay's 
" Complaint of the Papingo :" — 

Bot sea uiy spreit mon from my bodye go, 
I recommend it to the quene of Fary, 
Eternally into her court to tarry 
In wilderness amang the holtis hair. 

Lindsay's Works, 1592, p. 22.'. 

Chaucer also agrees, in this particular, with 
our romancer : — 

In his sadel he clombe anon, 
And priked over stile and ston, 

An eif quene for to espie ; 
Til he so long had riden and gone 
That he fond in a privie wone 

The countree of Faerie. 

Wherein he soughte north and south, 
And often spired with his mouth, 

In many a. lores te wilde ; 
For in that countree n;s ther non, 
That to him dorst ride or gon, 

Neither wife ne childe. 

Rime of Sir Thopas. 

V. Other two causes, deeply affecting the super- 
stition of which we treat, remain yet to be 
noticed. The first is derived from the Christian 
religion, which admits only of two classes of 
spirits, exclusive of the souls of men— angels, 
namely, and devils. This doctrine had a neces- 
sary tendency to abolish the distinction among 
subordinate spirits, which had been introduced 
by the superstitions of the Scandinavians. The 
existence of the Fairies was readily admitted; 
but, as they had no pretensions to the angelic 
character, they were deemed to be of infernal 



origin. The union, also, which had been formed 
betwixt the elves and the Pagan deities, was 
probably of disservice to the former ; since every 
one knows that the whole synod of Olympus 
were accounted daemons. 

The fulminations of the church were, therefore, 
early directed against those who consulted or 
consorted with the Fairies; and, according to 
the inquisitorial logic, the in nocuous' choristers of 
Oberon and Titania were, without remorse, con- 
founded with the sable inhabitants of the ortho- 
dox Gehennim ; while the rings, which marked 
their revels, were assimilated to the blasted sward 
on which the witches held their infernal sabbath. 
— Delrii Disq. Mag. p. 179. This transformation 
early took place ; for, among the many crimes 
for which the famous Joan of Arc was called upon 
to answer, it was not the least heinous, that she 
had frequented the Tree and Fountain, near 
Dompre, which formed the rendezvous of the 
Fairies, and bore their name ; that she had joined 
in the festive dance with the elves, who haunted 
this charmed spot ; had accepted of their magical 
bouquets, and availed herself of their talismans, 
for the deliverance of her country. — Vide Acta 
Judiciaria contra Johannam D'Arceam, vulgo 
vocatam Johanne la Pucelle. 

The Reformation swept away many of the cor- 
ruptions of the church of Rome ; but the purify- 
ing torrent remained itself somewhat tinctured by 
the superstitious impurities of the soil over which 
it had passed. The trials of sorcerers and witches, 
which disgrace our criminal records, become even 
more frequent after the Reformation of the 
church ; as if human credulity, no longer amused 
by the miracles of Rome, had sought for food in 
the traditionary records of popular superstition. 
A Judaical observation of the precepts of the Old 
Testament also characterized the Presbyterian 
reformers ; " Thou shalt not suffer a witch to 
live," was a text, which at once (as they con- 
ceived) authorized their belief in sorcery, and 
sanctioned the penalty which they denounced 
against it. The Fairies were, therefore, in no 



better credit after the Reformation than before, 
being still regarded as actual daemons, or some- 
thing very little better. A famous divine, Doctor 
Jasper Brokeman, teaches us, in his system of 
divinity, " that they inhabit in those places that 
are polluted with any crying sin, as effusion of 
blood, or where unbelief or superstitione have 
gotten the upper hand." — Description of Feroe. 
The Fairies being on such bad terms with the 
divines, those who pretended to intercourse with 
them, were, without scruple, punished as sorcer- 
ers; and such absurd charges are frequently 
stated as exaggerations of crimes, in themselves 
sufficiently heinous. 

Such is the case in the trial of the noted major 
Weir, and his sister ; where the following mum- 
mery interlards a criminal indictment, too infa- 
mously flagitious to be farther detailed: "9th 
April, 1670. Jean Weir, indicted Gf sorceries, 
committed by her when she lived and kept a 
school at Dalkeith : that she took employment 
from a woman, to speak in her behalf to the 
Queen of Fairii, meaning the devil; and that 
another woman gave her a piece of a tree, or root, 
the next day, and did tell her. that as long as she 
kept the same, she should be able to do what she 
pleased ; and that same woman, from whom she 
got the tree, caused her spread a cloth before her 
door, and set her foot upon it, and to repeat 
thrice, in the posture foresaid, these words, ' All 
her losses and crosses go alongst to the doors,' which 
was truly a consulting with the devil, and an act 
of sorcery, &c. That after the spirit, in the shape 
of a woman, who gave her the piece of tree, had 
removed, she, addressing herself to spinning, and 
having spun but a short time, found more yarn 
upon the pirn than could possibly have come 
there by good means." * — Books of Adjournal. 

* It is observed in the record, that major 
Weir, a man of the most vicious character, was 
at the same time ambitious of appearing emi- 
nently godly ; and used to frequent the beds of 
sick persons, to assist them with his prayers. On 
such occasions, he put to his mouth a long staff, 



Neither was the judgment of the criminal 
court of Scotland les3 severe against another 
familiar of the Fairies, whose supposed corre- 
spondence with the court of Elfiand seems to have 
constituted the sole crime for which she was 
burned alive. Her name was Alison Pearson, 
and she seems to have been a very noted person. 
In a bitter satire against Adamson, bishop of St 
Andrews, he is accused of consulting with sor- 
cerers, particularly with this very woman ; and 
an account is given of her travelling through 
Breadalbane, in the company of the Queen of 
Faery, and of her descrying, in the court of Elf- I 
land, many persons, who had been supposed at 
rest in the peaceful grave, f Among these we 
find two remarkable personages, the secretary,. 



which he usually carried, and expressed himself 
with uncommon energy and fluency, of which he 
was utterly incapable when the inspiring rod was 
withdrawn. This circumstance, the result, pro- 
bably, of a trick or habit, appearing suspicious to 
the judges, the staff of the sorcerer was burned 
along with his person. One hundred and thirty 
years have elapsed since his execution, yet no one 
has, during that space, ventured to inhabit the 
house of this celebrated criminal. 

f For oghtthe kirk culd him forbid, 
He sped him sone, and gat the third; 
Ane carliug of the quene of Phareis, 
That ewill win geir to elphyne careis : 
Through all Biade Abane scho has bene, 
On horsbak on Hallow ewin; 
And ay in seiking certayne nightis, 
As scho sayis with sur silly wychirs : 
And names out nybours sex or sewm, 
That we belevit had beae in heawin; 
Scho said scho saw theme weill aneugh, 
And speciallie gude auld JBalcleuch, 
The secretar, and sundae uther : 
Ane "William Symsone, her mother brother, 
Whom fra scho has resavit a buike 
For ony herb scho likes to iuke; 
It will instruct her how to tak it, 
In saws and sillubs how to mak it ; 
With stones that meikle mair can doe, 
In leich craft, where scho lays them toe ; 
A thousand maladeis scno hes mendit : 
Now being tane, and apprehendit, 
Scho being in the bischopis cure, 
And keipit in his castle sure, 
Without respect of worldlie glamer, 
He past into the witches chalmer. 

Scottish Poems of XVI. Century, Edin. 1801, 
\ol. ii. p. 3*0. 







young Maitland of Lethington, and one of the 
old lairds of Buccleuch. The cause of their being 
stationed in Elfland probably arose from the 
manner of their decease ; which, being uncom- 
mon and violent, caused the vulgar to suppose 
that they had been abstracted by the Fairies. 
Lethington, as is generally supposed, died a Ro- 
man death during his imprisonment in Leith ; 
and the Buccleuch, whom I believe to be here 
meant, was slain in a nocturnal scuffle by the 
Kers, his hereditary enemies. Besides, they were 
both attached to the cause of queen Mary, and 
to the ancient religion; and were thence, proba- 
bly, considered as more immediately obnoxious 
to the assaults of the powers of darkness. * The 
indictment of Alison Pearson notices her inter- 
course with the archbishop of St Andrews, and 
contains some particulars, worthy of notice, re- 
garding the court of Elfland, It runs thus :— 
" 28th May, 1586. Alison Pearson, in Byrehill, 
convicted of witchcraft, and of consulting with 
evil spirits, in the form of one Mr William Symp- 
sone, her cosin, who she affirmed was a gritt 
schollar, and doctor of medicine, that healed her 
of her diseases when she was twelve years of age ; 
having lost the power of her syde, and having a 
familiaritie with him for divers years, dealing 
with charms, and abuseing the common people 
by her arts of witchcraft, thir divers yeares by- 
past. 

"Item, For hanting and repairing with the 
gude neighbours, and queene of Elfland, thir 
divers years by-past, as she had confest ; and 
that she had friends in that court, which were of 



* Buccleuch was a violent enemy to the Eng- 
lish, by whom his lands had been repeatedly 
plundered, (See Introduction, p. xxvi.) and a great 
advocate for the marriage betwixt Mary and the 
dauphin, 1549. According to John Knox, he 
had recourse even to threats, in urging the par- 
liament to agree to the French match. "The; 
Inird of Balcleuch," says the Reformer, "a bloody 
man, with many Gods wounds, swore, they that 
would not consent ahould do worse." 



her own blude, who had gude acquaintance of the . 
queene of Elfland, which might have helped her j 
but she was whiles well, and whiles ill, sometimes - 
with them, and other ti.i:es away frae them ; and I 
that she would be in hsr bed haille and feire, and 
would not wytt where she would be the morn ; \ 
and that she saw not the queene this seven years, i 
and that she was seven years ill handled in the ) 
court of Elfland ; that, however, she had gude , 
friends there, and that it was the gude neighbours * 
that healed her, under G-cd ; and that she was 
coming and going to St Andrews to heale folkes ' 
thir many years past. 

" Item, Convict of the said act of witchcraft, in 
as far as she confest that the said Mr William j 
Sympsoune, who was her guidsir sone, born in i 
Stirleing, who was the king's smith, who, when 
about eight years of age, was taken away by ane | 
Egyptian into Egypt; which Egyptian was a 
gyant, where he remained twelve years, and then , 
came home. 

" Item, That 9he being in Grange Muir, with 
some other folke, she, being sick, lay downe ; and, 
when alone, there came a man to her, elad in c 
green, who said to her, if she would be faithful, 
he would do her good ; but she, being feared, 
cried out, but naebodye came to her ; so she said, i 
if he came in God's name, and for the gude of her | 
saule, it was well ; but he gaid away : that he 
appeared to her another time like a lustie man, L 
and many men and women with him; that, at \ 
seeing him, she signed herself and prayed, and 
past with them, and saw them making merrie € 
with pypes, and gude cheir and wine, and that f 
she was carried with them ; and that when she 
telled any of these things, she was sairlie tor- | 
mentit by them ; and that the first time she gaed \ 
with them, she gat a sair straike frae one of them, 
which took all the poustie f of her syde frae her, ■ 
and left ane ill-far'd mark on her syde. 

"Item, That she saw the gude neighbours 
make their sawes $ with pannes and fyres, and 



f Poustie— Power. 



t Sawes— Salves. 



"\ that they gathered the herbs before the sun was ifefor those guests to bathe themselves in, which 



up, and they came verie fearful sometimes to her, 
and fiaide " her very sair, which made her cry, 
and threatened they would use her worse than 
before ; and, at last, they took away the power of 
her haile syde frae her, which made her lye many 
weeks. Sometimes they would come and sitt by 
her, and promise all that she should never want, 
if she would be faithful, but if she would speak 
and telle of them, they should murther her ; and 
that Mr William Sympsoune is with them, who 
healed her, and telt her all things ; that he is a 
young man not six years older than hei-self, and 
that he will appear to her before the court conies ; 
that he told her he was taken away by them, and 
he bid her sign herself that she be not taken 
away, for the teind of them are tane to hell e verie 
year. 

"Item, That the said Mr William told her 
what herbs were fit to cure every disease, and 
how to use them ; and partieularlie tauld, that 
the bishop of St Andrews laboured under sindrie 
diseases, sic as the ripples, trembling, feaver, flux, 
&c. and bade her make a sawe, and anoint several 
parts of his body therewith, and gave directions 
for making a posset, which she made and gave 
him," 

For this idle story, the poor woman actually 
suffered death. Yet, notwithstanding the fervent 
arguments thus liberally used by the orthodox, 
the common people, though they dreaded even to 
think cr speak about the Fairies, by no means 
unanimously acquiesced in the doctrine which 
consigned them to eternal perdition. The inha- 
bitants of the Isle of Man call them the ''good 
people, and say they live in wilds and forests, and 
on mountains, and shun great cities, because of 
the wickedness acted therein : all the houses are 
blessed where they visit, for they fly vice. A 
person would be thought imprudently profane, 
who should suffer his family to go to bed, without 
having first set a tub, or pail, full of clean water, 

1 Fiaide — Scared. 



the natives aver they constantly do, as soon as 
ever the eyes of the family are closed, wherever 
they vouchsafe to come**' — Waldron's Works, p» 
126. There are some curious, and perhaps anom- 
alous facts, concerning the history of Fairies, in a 
sort of Cock lane narrative, contained in a letter 
from Moses Pitt to Dr Edward Fowler, lord 
bishop of Gloucester, printed at London in 1696, 
and preserved in Morgan's Phoenis Britannic us, 
4to, London, 1732* 

Anne Jefleries was born in the parish of St 
Teath, in the county of Cornwall, in 1626. Being 
the daughter of a poor man, she resided a3 servant 
in the house of the narrator's father, and waited 
upon the narrator himself, in his childhood. As 
she was knitting stockings in an arbour of the 
garden, "six sn.all people, all in green clothes," 
came suddenly over the garden wall ; at the sight 
of whom, being much frightened, she wa9 seized 
with convulsions, and continued so long sick, that 
she became as a changeling, and was unable to 
walk. During her sickness, she frequently ex- 
claimed, " They are Just gone out of the window I 
they are just gone out of the window ! do you not 
see them ? " These expressions, as she afterwards 
declared, related to their disappearing. During 
the harvest, when every one was employed, her 
mistress walked out ; and dreading that Anne, 
who was extremely weak and silly, might injure 
herself, or the house, by the fire, with some diffi- 
culty persuaded her to walk in the orchard till 
her return. She accidentally hurt her leg, and, 
at her return, Anne cured it, by stroking it with 
her hand. She appeared to be informed of every 
| particular, and asserted, that she had this infor- 
mation from the Fairies, who had caused the 
misfortune. After this, she performed numerous 
cures, but would never receive m^ney for the;n. 
From harvest time to Christmas, she was fed by 
the Fairies, and eat no other victuals but theirs. 
The narrator affirms, that, locking one day 
through the key-hole of the door of her chamber, 
he saw her eating; and that she gave him a , 



% 



if 



s 



piece of bread, which was the most delicious he % 
ever tasted. The Fairies always appeared to her 
in even numbers ; never less than two, nor more 
than eight, at a time. She had always a sufficient 
stock of salves and medicines, and yet neither 
made, nor purchased any ; nor did she ever 
appear to be in want of money. She, one day, 
gave a silver cup, containing about a quart, to 
the daughter of her mistress, a girl about four 
years old, to carry to her mother, who refused to 
receive it. The narrator adds, that he had seen 
her dancing in the orchard among the trees, and 
that she informed him she was then dancing with 
the Fairies. The report of the strange cures 
which she performed, soon attracted the attention 
of both ministers and magistrates. The ministers 
endeavoured to persuade her, that the Fairies, by 
which she was haunted, were evil spirits, and 
that she was under the delusion of the devil. 
After they had left her, 9he was visited by the 
Fairies, while in great perplexity, who desired 
her to cause those who termed them evil spirits, 
to read that place of scripture, First Epistle of 
John, chap. iv. v. 1, — Dearly beloved, believe not 
every spirit, but try the spirits, whether they are of 
God, SfC. Though Anne Jefferies could not read, 
she produced a Bible folded down at this pas- 
sage By the magistrates she was confined three 
months, without food, in Bodmin jail, and after- 
wards for some time in the house of justice Treg- 
eagle. Before the constable appeared to appre- 
hend her, she was visited by the Fairies, who 
informed her what was intended, and advised 
her to go with him. When this account was 
given, on May 1, 1696, she was still alive; but 
refused to relate any particulars of her connection 
with the Fairies, or the occasion on which they 
deserted her, lest she should again fall under the 
cognizance of the magistrates. 

Anne Jefferies' Fairies were not altogether 
singular in maintaining their good character, in 
opposition to the received opinion of the church, j 
Aubrey and Lily, unquestionably judges in such ' 
matters, had a high opinion of these beings, if we f ;' 



may judge from the following succinct and busi- 
ness-like memorandum of a ghost-seer. " Anno 
1670. Not far from Cirencester was an appari- 
tion. Being demanded whether a good spirit or 
a bad, returned no answer, but disappeared with 
a curious perfume, and most melodious twang. 
M. W. Lily believes it was a fairie. So Proper- ] 
this, 

" ' Omnia finierat ; tenues secessit in auras, 
Mansit odor, possis scire fuisse Deam ! ' " 

Aubrey's Miscellanies, p. fO. 

Webster gives an account of a person who 
cured diseases by means of a white powder. " To i 
this 1 shall only add thus much, that the man 
was accused for invoking and calling upon evil 
spirits, and Avas a very simple and illiterate per- 
son to any man's judgment, and had formerly 
been very poor, but had gotten some pretty little 
means to maintain himself, his wife, and diverse 
small children, by his cures done with his white 
powder, of which there were sufficient proofs ; 
and the judge asking him how he came by the 
powder, he told a story to this effect ; That one 
night, before day was gone, as he was going 
home from his labour, being very sad and full of 
heavy thoughts, not knowing how £o get meat 
and drink for his wife and children, he met a fair 
woman in fine cloaths, who asked him why he 
was so sad, and he told her that it was by reason 
of his poverty, to which she said, that if he would 
follow her counsel, she would help him to that 
which would serve to get him a good living; to 
which he said he would consent with all his heart, 
so it were not by unlawful ways ; she told him 
that it should not be by any such ways, but by 
doing good, and curing of sick people ; and so 
warning him strictly to meet her there the next 
night, at the same time, she departed from him, 
and he went home. And the next night, at the 
time appointed, he duly waited, and she (accord- 
ing to promise) came, and told him that it was 
well that he came so duly, otherwise he had 
missed that benefit that she intended to do unto 
him, and so bade him follow her, and not be 



afraid. Thereupon she led him to a little hill, 
and she knocked three times, and the hill opened, 
and they went in, and came to a fair hall, 
wherein was a queen sitting in great state, and 
many people about her, and the gentlewoman 
that brought him presented him to the queen, 
and she said he was welcome, and bid the gen- 
tlewoman give him some of the white powder, 
and teach him how to use it, which she did, and 
gave him a little wood box full of the white pow- 
der, and bade him give two or three grains of it 
to any that were sick, and it would heal them ; 
and so she brought him forth of the hill, and so 
they parted. And, being asked by the judge, 
whether the place within the hill, which he called 
a hall, were light or dark, he said, indifferent, as 
it is with us in the twilight ; and being asked 
how he got more powder, he said, when he 
wanted, he went to that hill, and knocked three 
times, and said every time, I am coming, I am 
coming, whereupon it opened, and he, going in, 
was conducted by the aforesaid woman to the 
queen, and so had more powder given him. This 
was the plain and simple story (however it may 
be judged of) that he told before the judge, the 
whole court, and the jury ; and there being no 
proofs, but what cures he had done to very many, 
the jury did acquit him : and I remember the 
judge said, when all the evidence was heard, that 
if he were to assign his punishment, he should be 
whioped from thence to Fairy -hail; and did 
seem to judge it to be a delusion, or an impos- 
ture." — Webster's Displaying of supposed Witch- 
craft, p. 301. 

A rustic, also, whom Jackson taxed with 
magical practices, about 1620, obstinately denied 
that the good king of the Fairies had any con- 
j uection with the devil ; and some of the Highland 
seers, even in our day, have boasted of their inti- 
macy with the elves, as an innocent and advan- 
tageous connection. One Macoan, in Appin, the 
last person eminently gifted with the second 
sight, professed to my learned and excellent 
fiuend, Mr Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, that he 



owed his prophetic visions to their interven- 
tion. 

VI. There remains yet another cause to be 
noticed, which seems to have induced a consi- 
derable alteration into the popular creed of Eng- 
land, respecting Fairies. Many poets of the 
sixteenth century, and, above all, our immortal 
Shakspeare, deserting the hackneyed fictions of 
Greece and Rome, sought for machinery in the 
superstitions of their native country. " The fays, 
which nightly dance upon the wold," were an 
interesting subject ; and the creative imagination 
of the bard, improving upon the vulgar belief, 
assigned to them many of those fanciful attributes 
and occupations, which posterity have since asso- 
ciated with the name of Fairy. In such employ- 
ments, as rearing the drooping flower, and 
arranging the disordered chamber, the Fairies of 
South Britain gradually lost the harsher charac- 
ter of the dwarfs, or elves. Their choral dances 
were enlivened by the introduction of the merry 
goblin Puck, * for whose freakish pranks they 
exchanged their original mischievous propensi- 
ties. The Fairies of Shakspeare, Drayton, and 
Mennis, therefore, at first exquisite fancy por- 
traits, may be considered as having finally ope- 
rated a change in the original which gave them 
birth, f 



i 









Sfc 



* Robin Goodfellow, or Hobgoblin, possesses 
the frolicksome qualities of the French Latin 
For his full character, the reader is referred to (~ 
the "Reliques of Ancient Poetry." The proper %_- 
livery of this sylvan Momus is to be found in an 
old play. " Enter Robin Goodfellow, in a suit 
of leather, close to his body, his hands and face v 
coloured russet colour, with a flail." — Grim the 8 
Collier of Croydon, Act 4, Scene 1. Atother times, 
j however, he is presented in the vernal livery of L 
the elves, his associates : — 

Tim. " I have made 
Some speeches, Sir, in verse, which have been spoke 

By a green Robin Goodfellow, from Che:ipside con- ' '-.*- 

duit, /V 
To my Father's company." 

The City Match, Act 1, Scene 6. _ 

£ f The Fairy land, and Fairies of Spenser, hare \Jt 



SCOTTISH BALLADS, 



i f^o?) While the fays of South Britain received such 44? of them, but especially on Friday, when their 



, attractive and poetical embellishments, those of 
Scotland, who possessed no sueh advantage, re- 
tained more of their ancient and appropriate 
J character. Perhaps, also, the persecution which 
. these sylvan deities underwent, at the instance of I 
- the stricter presbyterian clergy, had its usual 
effect in hardening their dispositions, or at least 
I in rendering them more dreaded by those among 
; whom they dwelt. The face of the country, too, 
might have some effect; as we should naturally 
attribute a less malicious disposition, and a less 
I frightful appearanee, to the fays who glide by 
moon-light through the oaks of Windsor, than 
to those who haunt the solitary heaths and lofty 
mountains of the North. The fact at least is 
certain ; and it has not escaped a late ingenious 
traveller, that the character of the Scottish Fairy 
is more harsh and terrific than that which is 
. ascribed to the elves of our sister kingdom. — See 
Stoddart's View of Seenery and Manners in Scot- 
land. 

Some curious particulars coneerning^the Daoine 
Shie, or Men of Peace, for so the highlanders call 
> Fairies, may be found in Dr Grahame's " Sketches 
of Picturesque Scenery on the Southern Confines 
of Perthshire." They are, though not absolutely 
malevolent, believed to be a peevish, repining,, 
and envious race, who enjoy, in the subterranean 
recesses, a kind of shadowy splendour. The 
highlanders are at all times unwilling to speak 

no connection with popular superstition, being 
only words used to denote an Utopian scene of 
action, and imaginary and allegorical eharaeters ; 
and the title of the " Fairy Queen " being proba- 
bly suggested by the elfin mistress of Chaucer's 
" Sir Thopas, " The stealing of the Red Cross 
i Knight, while a child, is the only incident in the 
poem which approaches to the popular character 
of the Fairy : — 

A Fairy thee unweeting reft, 

There as thou slept-;t in tender swadling band, 
And her base elfin brood there for thee left : 
Such men do changelings call, so chang'd bv Fairies 
theft. 

Book i. Caut< 



influence is supposed to be particularly exten- 
sive. As they are supposed to be invisibly pre- 
sent, they are at all times to be spoken of with 
respect* 

The Fairies of Scotland are represented as a 
diminutive race of beings, of a mixed, or rather 
dubious nature, capricious in their dispositions., 
and mischievous in their resentment- They in- 
habit the interior of green hills, chiefly those of a 
conical form,, in Gaelio termed Sighan, on which 
they lead their dances bymoon-light; impressing; 
upon the surface the marks of circles, which some- 
times appear yellow and blasted, sometimes of a 
deep green hue ; and within which it is dangerous 
to sleep, or to be found after sun -set. The re- 
moval of those large portions of turf, which thun- 
derbolts sometimes scoop out of the ground with 
singular regularity, is also ascribed to their 
agency. Cattle, which are suddenly seized with 
the cramp, or some similar disorder, are said to 
be elf-shot ; and the approved cure is,, to chafe 
the parts affected with a blue bonnet, which, i& 
may be readily believed, often restores the circu- 
lation. The triangular flints, frequently found 
in Scotland, with which the ancient inhabitants 
probably barbed their shafts, are supposed to be 
the weapons of Fairy resentment, and are termed 
elf-arrow heads. The rude brazen battle-axes of 
the ancients, commonly called celts* are also 
ascribed to their manufacture. But, like the 
Gothic duergar, their skill is not confined to the 
fabrication of arms ; for they are heard sedulously 
hammering in linns, precipices, and roeky or 
cavernous situations, where, like the dwarfs of 
the mires, mentioned by Georg. Agricola, they 
busy themselves in imitating the actions and the 
various employments of men. The brook of 
Beaumont, for example, which passes, in its 
course, by numerous linns and caverns, is noto- 
rious for being haunted by the Fairies; and the 
perforated and rounded stones, which are formed 
by trituration in its channel, are termed, by the 
I *■ vulgar, fai ry cups and dishes. A beautiful reasoa 



is assigned by Fletcher for the fays frequenting 
streams and fountains : He tells us of 

A virtuous well, about whose flowery banks 
The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds, 
By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes 
Their stolen children, so to make them free 
From dying flesh and dull mortality. 

Faithful Shepherdess. 

It is sometimes accounted unlucky to pass such 
places, without performing some ceremony to 
avert the displeasure of the elves. There is, 
upon the top of Minchmuir, a mountain in 
Peebles-shire, a spring, called the Cheese Well, 
because, anciently, those who passed that way 
were wont to throw into it a piece of cheese, as 
an offering to the Fairies, to whom it was con- 
secrated. 

Like the feld elfen of the Saxons, the usual 
dress of the Fairies is green ; though, on the 
moors, they have been sometimes observed in 
heath-brown, or in weeds dyed with the stoneraw, 
or lichen. * They often ride in invisible proces- 
sion, when their presence is discovered by the 
shrill ringing of their bridles. On these occa- 
sions, they sometimes borrow mortal steeds ; and 
when such are found at morning, panting and 
fatigued in their stalls, with their manes and 
tails dishevelled and entangled, the grooms, I 
presume, often find this a convenient excuse for 
their situation ; as the common belief of the elves 
quaffing the choicest liquors in the cellars of the 
rich (see the story of Lord Duffus, below,) might 
occasionally cloak the delinquencies of an unfaith- 
ful butler. 

The Fairies, beside their equestrian processions, 
are addicted, it would seem, to the pleasures of 
the chace. A young sailor, travelling by night 
from Douglas, in the Isle of Man, to visit his 
sister, residing in Kirk Merlugh, heard the noise 
of horses, the holla of a huntsman, and the 
sound of a horn. Immediately afterwards, thir- 
teen horsemen, dressed in green, and gallantly 



* Hence the hero of the ballad is termed an 
" elfin grey." 



mounted, swept past him. Jack was so much 
delighted with the sport, that he followed them, 
and enjoyed the sound of the horn for some miles ; 
and it was not till he arrived at his sister's house 
that he learned the danger which he had incur- 
red. I must not omit to mention, that these 
little personages are expert jockeys, and sc rn to 
ride the little Manks ponies, though apparently 
well suited to their size. The exercise, there- 
fore, falls heavily upon the English and Irish 
horses brought into the Isle of Man. Mr "Wal- 
dron was assured by a gentleman of Ballafletcher, 
that he had lost three or four capital hunters by 
these nocturnal excursions. — Waldron's Works, 
p. 132. From the same author we learn, that 
the Fairies sometimes take more legitimate modes 
of procuring horses. A person of the utmost in- 
tegrity informed him, that, having occasion to 
sell a horse, he was accosted among the moun- 
tains by a little gentleman plainly dressed, who 
priced his horse, cheapened him, and, after some 
chaffering, finally purchased him. No sooner 
had the buyer mounted, and paid the price, than 
he sunk through the earth, horse and man, to 
the astonishment and terror of the seller; who 
experienced, however, no inconvenience from 
dealing with so extraordinary a purchaser.— Ibid. 
p. 135. 

It is hoped the reader will receive, with due re- 
spect, these, and similar stories, told by Mr Wal- 
dron ; for he himself, a scholar and a gentleman, 
informs us, "as to circles in grass, and the im- 
pression of small feet among the snow, I cannot 
deny but I have seen them frequently, and once 
thought I heard a whistle, as though in my ear, 
when nobody that could make it was near me." 
In this passage there is a curious picture of the 
contagious effects of a superstitious atmosphere. 
Waldron had lived so long among the Manks, 
that he was almost persuaded to believe their 
legends. 

The worthy captain George Burton communi- 
cated to Richard Bovet, gent., author of the 
interesting work, entitled, " Pandasmonium, or 



m 



tfS 



W 



X°HD 



'jstf 




\LM 






the Devil's Cloister Opened," the following sin- 
gular account of a lad called the Fairy Boy of 
Leith, -who, it seems, acted as a drummer to the 
elves, who weekly held rendezvous in the Calton 
Hill, near Edinburgh. 

"About fifteen years since, having business 
that detained me for some time at Leith, which 
is near Edinburgh, in the kingdom of Scotland, 
I often met some of my acquaintance at a certain 
house there, where we used to drink a glass of 
wine for our refection ; the woman which kept 
the house was of honest reputation among the 
neighbours, which made me give the more atten- 
tion to what she told me one day about a fairy 
boy (as they called him,) who lived about that 
town. She had given me so strange an account 
of him, that I desired her I might see him the 
first opportunity, which she promised ,• and not 
long after, passing that way, she told me there 
was the fairy boy ; but a little before I came by, 
and, casting her eye into the street, said, ' Look 
you, Sir, yonder he is at play with those other 
boys,' and designing him to me, I went, and, by 
smooth words, and a piece of money, got him to 
come into the house with me; where, in the 
presence of divers people, I demanded of him 
several astrological questions, which he answered 
with great subtilty ; and, through all his dis- 
course, carried it with a cunning much above his 
years, which seemed not to exceed ten or eleven. 
" He seemed to make a motion like drumming 
upon the table with his fingers, upon which I 
asked him, Whether he could beat a drum ? To 
which he replied, Yes, Sir, as well as any man in 
Scotland ; for every Thursday night I beat all 
points to a sort of people that used to meet under 
yonder hill, (pointing to the great hill between 
Edenborough and Leith.) How, boy ? quoth I, 
What company have you thei-e ? There are, Sir, 
(said he) a great company both of men and wo- 
men, and they are entertained with many sorts 
of musick, besides my drum ; they have, besides, 
plenty of variety .of meats and wine, and many 
times we are carried into France or Holland in a 




night, and return again, and whilst we are 
there, we enjoy all the pleasures the country 
doth afford. I demanded of him, how they got fj 
under that hill? To which he replied, that f%i 
there were a great pair of gates that opened to wjp 
them, though they were invisible to others ; and . ' " v ^ \,;' 
that within there were brave large rooms, as well fs 
accommodated as most in Scotland. — I then V^hj 
asked him, How I should know what he said to f 
be true ? Upon which he told me he would read i ji - " 
my fortune, saying, I should have two wives, and L>0' °^ 
that he saw the forms of them sitting on my f 1= 
shoulders ; that both would be very handsome H €^N 
women. As he was thus speaking, a woman of ^v< 
the neighbourhood coming into the room, de- kj~ \, 
manded of him, What her fortune should be ? ^ 
He told her that she had two bastards before she f^Wz 
was married, which put her in such a rage, that v£P? T ' 
she desired not to hear the rest. 

" The woman of the house told me, that all the i 
people in Scotland could not keep him from the \<~^ 
rendezvous on Thursday night ; upon which, by 
promising him some more money, I got a promise 
of him to meet me at the same place, in the after- 
noon, the Thursday following, and so dismist him 
at that time. The boy came again, at the place 
and time appointed, and I had prevailed with = 
some friends to continue with me (if possible) to 
prevent his moving that night. He was placed -' " 
between us, and answered many questions, until, f\ 
about eleven of the clock, he was got away un- ^~T " 
perceived of the company, but I, suddenly missing ^3<*/ 
him, hasted to the door, and took hold of him, 7% 
and so returned him into the same room ; we all Vjp* 
watched him, and, on a sudden, he was again got "Ifj 
out of doors ; I followed him close, and he made 
a noise in the street, as if he had been set upon ; 
but from that time I could never see him. 

" George Burton." iT~T — 
Pandcemoninm, or the Devil's Cloyster. By ^Si , 
Richard Bovet, Gent. Lond. 1684, p. 172. 

From the '* History of the Irish Bards," by Mr \Jp> 
Walker, and from the glossary subjoined to the 
lively and ingenious Tale of " Castle Rackrent," \£y£ 



/^yii 



-we learn, that the same ideas, concerning Fairies, % 
are current among the vulgar in that country. 
The latter authority mentions their inhabiting 
the ancient tumuli, called Barrows, and their 
abstracting mortals. They are termed " the 
good people ;" and when an eddy of wind raises 
loose dust and sand, the vulgar believe that it 
announces a Fairy procession, and bid God speed 
their journey. 

The Scottish Fairies, in like manner, some- 
times reside in subterranean abodes, in the vicin- 
ity of human habitations, or, according to the 
popular phrase, under the " door-stane," or 
threshold; in which situation, they sometimes 
establish an intercourse with men, by borrowing 
and lending, and other kindly offices. In this 
capacity they are termed "the good neighbours," * 
from supplying privately the wants of their 
friends, and assisting them in all their transac- 
tions, -while their favours are concealed. Of this 



Perhaps this epithet is only one example, 
among many, of the extreme civility which the 
vulgar in Scotland use towards spirits of a dubi- 
ous, or even a determinedly mischievous, nature. 
The archfiend himself is often distinguished by 
the softened title of the "good-man." This 
epithet, so applied, must sound strange to a 
southern ear; but, as the phrase bears various 
interpretations, according to the places where it 
is used, so, in the Scottish dialect, the goodman 
of such a place signifies the tenant, or life-renter, 
in opposition to the laird, or proprietor. Hence, 
the devil is termed the good-man, or tenant, of 
the infernal regions. In the book of the Univer- 
sal Kirk, 13th May, 1594, mention is made of 
" the horrible superstitioune usit in G-arioch, and 
dyvers parts of the countrie, in not labouring a 
parcel of ground dedicated to the devil, under 
the title of the Guid Man's Croft." Lord Hailes 
conjectured this to have been the tenenos adjoin- 
ing to some ancient Pagan temple. The una- 
vowed, but obvious purpose of this practice, was 
to avert the destructive rage of Satan from the 
neighbouring possessions. It required various 
fulminations of the General Assembly of the 
Kirk to abolish a practice bordering so nearly 
upon the doctrine of the Magi. 



the traditionary story of Sir Godfrey Macculloch / 
forms a curious example. 

As this Gallovidian gentleman was taking the 
air on horseback, near his own house, he was sud- 
denly accosted by a little old man, arrayed in 
green, and mounted upon a white palfrey. After v 
mutual salutation, the old man gave Sir Godfrey I 
to understand, that he resided under his habita- 
tion, and that he had great reason to complain ■ 
of the direction of a drain, or common sewer, 
which emptied itself directly into his chamber of 
dais, f Sir Godfrey Maculloch was a good deal : 
startled at this extraordinary complaint; but, [ 
guessing the nature of the being he had to deal 
with, he assured the old man, with great cour- ( 
tesy, that the direction of the drain should be I 
altered ; and caused it to be done accordingly. 
Many years afterwards, Sir Godfrey had the mis- ( 
fortune to kill, in a fray, a gentleman of the - 
neighbourhood. He was apprehended, tried, and / 
condemned. \ The scaffold, upon which his , 
head was to be struck eff, was erected on the ' 
Castle-hill of Edinburgh ; but hardly had he , 
reached the fatal spot, when the old man, upon I 
his white palfrey, pressed through the crow J, 
with the rapidity of lightning. Sir Godfrey, at 
his command, sprung on behind him ; the " good \ 
neighbour" spurred his horse down the steep \ 
bank, and neither he nor the criminal were ever 
again seen. 

The most formidable attribute of the elves, waa 
their practice of carrying away and exchanging 
children, and that of stealing human souls from 
their bodies. " A persuasion prevails among the 
ignorant," says the author of a MS. history of 



f The best chamber was thus currently deno- \ 
minated in Scotland, from the French dais, sig- 
nifying that part of the ancient halls which was 
elevated above the rest, and covered with a ca- 
nopy. The tu:f-seats, which occupy the sunny 
side of a cottage wall, are also termed the dais. 

$ In this particular, tradition coincides with 
the real fact; the trial took place in 1697. 









SCOTTISH BALLADS. 

4 



m 






Moray, "that, in a consumptive disease, the 
Fairies steal away the soul, and put the soul of a 
Fairy in the room of it." This belief prevails 
chiefly along the eastern coast of Scotland, where 
a practice, apparently of druidical origin, is used 
to avert the danger. In the increase of the 
March moon, withies of oak and ivy are cut, and 
twisted into wreaths or circles, which they pre- 
serve till next March. After that period, when 
persons are consumptive, or children hectic, they 
cause them to pass thrice through these circles. 
In other cases the cure was more rough, and at 
least as dangerous as the disease, as will appear 
from the following extract : 

" There is one thing remarkable in this parish 
of Suddie (in Inverness-shire,) which I think 
proper to mention. There is a small hill N. W. 
from the church, commonly called Therdy El ill, 
or Hill of Therdie, as some term it ; on the top 
of which there is a well, which I had the curi- 
osity to view, because of the several reports con- 
cerning it. When children happen to be sick, 
and languish long in their malady, so that they 
almost turned skeletons, the common people 
imagine they are taken away (at least the sub- I 
stance) by spirits, called Fairies, and the shadow 
left with them; so, at a particular season in 
summer, they leave them all night themselves, 
watching at a distance, near this well, and this 
they imagine will either end or mend them ; they 
say many more do recover than do not. Yea, 
an honest tenant who lives hard by it, and whom 
I had the curiosity to discourse about it, told me 
it has recovered some, who were about eight or 
nine years of age, and to his certain knowledge, 
they bring adult persons to it; for, as he was 
passing one dark night, he heard groanings, and, 
coming to the well, he found a man, who had 
been long sick, wrapped in a plaid, so that he 
could scarcely move, a stake being fixed in the 
earth, with a rope, or tedder, that was about the 
plaid ; he had no sooner inquired what he was, 
but he conjured him to loose him, and out of 



he was, as I may so speak, swaddled ; but, if I 
right remember, he signified, he did not recover." 
Account of the Parish of Suddie, apud Macfar- 
lane's MSS. 

According to the earlier doctrine, concerning 
the original corruption of human nature, the 
power of daemons over infants had been long 
reckoned considerable, in the period intervening 
between birth and baptism. During this period, 
therefore, children were believed to be particu- 
larly liable to abstraction by the fairies, and 
mothers chiefly dreaded the substitution of 
changelings in the place of their own offspring. 
Various monstrous charms existed in Scotland, 
for procuring the restoration of a child which had 
been thus stolen ; but the most efficacious of 
them was supposed to be, the roasting of the 
supposititious child upon the live embers, when it 
was believed it would vanish, and the true child 
appear in the place, whence it had been originally 
abstracted. * It may be questioned if this expe- 
riment could now be made without the animad- 
version of the law. Even that which is prescribed 
in the following legend is rather too hazardous 
for modern use. 

" A certain woman having put out her child 
to nurse in the country, found, when she came 
to take it home, that its form was so much al- 
tered, that she scarce knew it ; nevertheless, not 
knowing what time might do, took it home for 
her own. But when, after some years, it could 
neither speak nor go, the poor woman was fain 
to carry it, with much trouble, in her arms ; and 
one day, a poor man coming to the door, ' God 
bless you, mistress,' said he, 'and your poor 



* Less perilous recipes were sometimes used. 
The editor is possessed of a small relique, termed 
by tradition a toad-stone, the influence of which 
was supposed to preserve pregnant women from 
the power of daemons, and other dangers inci- 
dental to their situation. It has been carefully 
preserved for several generations, was often 
pledged for considerable sums of money, and 
sympathy he was pleased to slacken that wherein , uniformly redeemed from a belief in its efficacy. 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



413 



child ; be pleased to bestow something on a poor 
man.' 'Ah! tlvs child,' replied she, 'is the 
cause of all my sorrow,' and related what had 
happened, adding, moreover, that she thought it 
: changed, and none of her child. The old man, 
whom years had rendered more prudent in such 
matters, told her, to find out the truth, she 
should make a clear fire, sweep the hearth very 
clean, and place the child fast in his chair, that 
he might not fall before it, and break a dozen 
eggs, and place the four-and-twenty half-shells 
before it; then go out, and listen at the door: 
for, if the child spoke, it was certainly a change- 
ling ; and then she should carry it out, and leave 
it on the dunghill to cry, and not to pity it, till 
she heard its voice no more. The woman, hav- 
ing done all things according to these words, 
heard the child say, * Seven years old was I before 
1 came to the nurse, and four years have I lived 
since, and never saw so many milk pans before, 
^o the woman took it up, and left it upon the 
dunghill to cry, and not to be pitied, till at last 
she thought the voice went up into the air ; and 
coming, found there her own natural and well- 
E.i vowed child." — Grose's Provincial Glossary, 
quoted from "A Plesant Treatise on Witch- 
craft." 

The most minute and authenticated account 
of an exchanged child is to be found in "Waldron's 
"Isle of Man," a book from which I have de- 
rived much legendary information. "I was 
prevailed upon myself," says that author, "to go 
and see a child, who, they told me, was one of 
these changelings, and, indeed, must own, was 
not a little surprised, as well as shocked, at the 
sight. Nothing under heaven could have a more 
beautiful face ; but, though between five and six 
years old, and seemingly healthy, he was so far 
from being able to walk or stand, that he could 
not so much as move any one joint ; his limbs 
were vastly long for his age, but smaller than any 
infant's of six months ; his complexion was per- 
fectly delicate, and he had the finest hair in the 
world. He never spoke nor cried, ate scarce any- 



thing, and was very seldom seen to smile ; but if 
any one called him a fairy-elf, he would frown, 
and fix his eyes so earnestly on those who said it, 
as if he would look them through. His mother, 
or at least his supposed mother, being very poor, 
frequently went out a chareing, and left him a 
whole day together. The neighbours, out of 
curiosity, have often looked in at the window, to 
see how he behaved while alone ; which, when- 
ever they did, they were sure to find him laugh- 
ing, and in the utmost delight. This made them 
judge that he was not without company, more 
pleasing to him than any mortals could be ; and 
what made this conjecture seem the more reason- 
able, was, that if he were left ever so dirty, the 
woman, at her return, saw Irm with a clean 
face, and his hair combed with the utmost exact- 
ness and nicety."— P. 128. 

"Waldron gives another account of a poor wo- 
man, to whose offspring, it would seem, the 
Fairies had taken a special fancy. A few nights 
after she was delivered of her first child, the 
\ family were alarmed by a dreadful cry of " Fire !' 
j All flew to the door, while the mother lay trem- 
| bling in bed, unable to protect her infant, which 
1 was snatched from the bed by an invisible hand. 
{ Fortunately, the return of the gossips, after the 
| causeless alarm, distu: bed the Fairies, who drop- 
| ped the child, which was found sprawling and 
I shrieking upon the threshold. At the good 
\ woman's second accouchement, a tumult was 
\ heard in the cow-house, which drew thither the 
whole assistants. They returned, when they 
found that all was quiet among the cattle, and 
lo ! the second child had been carried from the 
bed, and droppei in the middle of the lane. But, 
upon the third occurrence of the same kind, the 
company were again decoyed out of the sick wo- 
man's chamber by a false alarm, leaving only a 
nurse, who was detained by the bonds of sleep. 
On this last occasion, the mother plainly saw her 
child removed, though the means were invisible. 
She screamed for assistance to the nurse ; but the 
old lady had partaken too deeply of the cordials 












Vt 



(■ml 



m 

):'■■ 



^ 

%-^v 



% 



which cireu'ate upon such j yf ul occasions, to be 9k 
easily awakened. In short, the child was this 
time fairly carried off, and a withered, deformed 
creature left in its stead, quite naked, with the 
clothes of the abstracted infant, rolled in a bun- 
dle, by its side. This creature lived nine years, 
ate nothing but a few herbs, and neither spoke, 
stood, walked, nor performed any other func- 
tions of mortality ; resembling, in all respects, 
the changeling already mentioned. — Waldron's 
Works, ibid. 

But the power of the Fairies was not eonfined 
to unchristened children alone; it was supposed 
frequently to extend to full-grown persons, espe- 
cially such as, in an unlucky hour, were devoted 
to the devil by the execration of parents and of 
masters ; * or those who were found asleep under 
a rock, or on a green hill, belonging to the 
Fairies, after sun -set, or, finally, to those who 
unwarily joined their orgies. A tradition existed, 
during the seventeenth century, concerning an 
ancestor of the noble family of Duffus, who, 
" walking abroad in the fields, near to his own 
house, was suddenly carried away, and found the 
next day at Paris, in the French king's cellar, 
with a silver cup in his hand. Being brought 
into the king's presence, and questioned by him 
who he was, and how he came thither, he told 
his name, his country, and the place of his resi- 
dence ; and that, on such a day of the month, 
which proved to be the day immediately preced- 
ing, being in the fields, he heard the noise of a 

* This idea is not peculiar to the Gothic tribes, 
but extends to those of Sclavic origin. Tooke 
{History of Russia, vol. i. p. 100,) relates, that 
the Russian peasants believe the nocturnal dae- 
mon, Kikimora, to have been a child, whom the 
devil stole out of the womb of its mother, because 
she had cursed it. They also assert, that if an 
execration against a child te spoken in an evil 
hour, the chikl is carried off by the devil. The 
beings, so stolen, are neither fiends nor men ; 
they are invisible, and afraid of the cross and 
holy water ; but, on the other hand, in their 
nature and dispositions they resemble mankind, 
whom they love, and rarely injure. 



whirlwind, and of voices, ciying, 'Horse and 
Hattock !' (this is the word which the Fairies are 
said to use when they remove from any place,) 
whereupon he cried, ' Horse and Hattock ' also, 
and was immediately caught up, and transported 
through the air, by the Fairies, to that place, 
where, after he had drunk heartily, he fell asleep, 
and before he woke, the rest of the company 
were gone, and had left him in the posture 
wherein he was found. It is said the king gave 
him the cup, which was found in his hand, and 
dismissed him." The narrator affirms, '* that the 
cup was still preserved, and known by the name 
of the Fairy cup." He adds, that Mr Steward, 
tutor to the then lord Duffus, had informed him, 
that, " when a boy, at the school of Forres, he, 
and his school-fellows, were upon a time whip- 
ping their tops in the church-yard, before the 
door of the church, when, though the day was 
calm, they heard a noise of a wind, and at some 
distance saw the small dust begin to rise and turn 
round, which motion continued advancing till it 
came to the place where they were, whereupon 
they began to bless themselves ; but one of their 
number being, it seems, a little more bold and 
confident than his companions, said, ' Horse and 
Hattock with my top,' and immediately they all 
saw the top lifted up from the ground, but could 
not see which way it was carried, by reason of a 
cloud of dust which was raised at the same time. 
They sought for the top all about the place where 
it was taken up, but in vain ; and it was found 
afterwards in the church-yard, on the other side 
of the church." — This puerile legend is contained 
in a letter from a learned gentleman in Scotland, 
to Mr Aubrey, dated 15th March, 1695, published 
in Aubrey's Miscellanies, p. 15S. 

Notwithstanding the special example of lord 
Duffus, and of the top, it is the common opinion , 
that persons, falling under the power of the 
Fairies, were only allowed to revisit the haunts 
of men, after seven years had expired. At the 
end of seven years more, they again disappeared, 
after which they were seldom seen among mor- 






| 

5 



tals. The accounts they gave of their situation { 
differ in some particulars. Sometimes they were 

i represented as leading a life of constant restless- 
ness, and wandering by moon -light. According 

| to others, they inhabited a pleasant region, 

I where, however, their situation was rendered 
horrible, by the sacrifice of one or more individ- 
uals to the devil every seventh year. This cir- 
cumstance is mentioned in Alison Pearson's 
indictment, and in the Tale of the Young Tam- 
lane, where it is termed, " the paying the kane to 
hell," or, according to some recitations, " the 

I teind," or tenth. This is the popular reason 
assigned for the desire of the Fairies to abstract 
young children, as substitutes for themselves in 
this dreadful tribute. Concerning the mode of 
winning, or recovering, persons abstracted by 
the Fairies, tradition differs; but the popular 
opinion, contrary to what may be inferred from 
the following tale, supposes, that the recovery 
must be effected within a year and a day, to be j 
held legal in the Fairy court. This feat, which ! 
was reckoned an enterprise of equal difficulty i 
and danger, cculd only be accomplished on Hal- 
lowe'en, at the great annual processi' n of the 
Fairy court. * Of this procession the following 
description is found in Montgomery's Flyting 
against Polwart, apud Watson's Collection of Scots 
Poems, 1709, Part iii. p. 12. 

In the hinder end of harvest, or. All-hallowe'en, 

When our good neighbours tiois ride, ii I read 
right, 
Some buckled on a bunewand, and some on a been. 

Ay trottand in troups from the twilight ; 
Some saidled a she-ape, all grathed into green, 

Some hobland on a hemp-stalk, hovand to the 
bight; 
The king of Pharie and his court, with the Elf queen, 

With many elfish incubus was lidand that night. 
There an elf on an ape, an unsel begat, 

Into a pot by Pomathorne ; 

That bratchai t in a busse was born ; 

They fand a monster on the morn, 
War faced nor a cat. 

* See the inimitable poem of Hallowe'en : — 

" Upon that night, when Fairies light 

On Cassilis Downan dance; 
Or o'er the leas, iu splendid blaze, 

Oa stately coursers prance," &c— Burns. 



The catastrophe of Tamlane terminated more 
successfully than that of other attempts, which 
tradition still records. The wife of a farmer in 
Lothian had been carried off by the Fairies, and, 
during the year of probation, repeatedly appeared 
on Sunday, in the midst of her children, combing 
their hair. On one of these occasions she was 
accosted by her husband ; when she related to 
him the unfortunate event which had separated 
them, instructed him by what means he might 
win her, and exhorted him to exert all his cour- 
age, since her temporal and eternal happiness 
depended on the success of his attempt. The 
farmer, who ardently loved his wife, set out on 
Hallowe'en, and, in the midst of a plot of furze, 
waited impatiently for the procession of the 
Fairies. A t the ringing of the Fairy bridles, and 
the wild unearthly sound which accompanied the 
cavalcade, his heart failed him, and he suffered 
the ghostly train to pass by without interruption. 
When the last had rode past, the whole troop 
vanished, with loud shouts of laughter and ex- 
ultation ; among which he plainly discovered the 
voice of his wife, lamenting that he had lost her 
for ever. 

A similar, but real incident, took place at the 
town of North Berwick, within the memory of 
man. The wife of a man, above the lowest class 
of society, being left alone in the house, a few 
days after delivery, was attacked and carried off 
by one of those convulsion fits, incident to her 
situation. Fpon the return of the family, who 
had been engaged in hay-making, or harvest, 
they found the corpse much disfigured. This 
circumstance, the natural consequence of her 
disease, led some of the spectators to think that 
she had been carried off by the Fairies, and that 
the body before them was some elfin deception. 
The husband, probably, paid little attention to 
this opinion at the time. The body was interred, 
and after a decent time had elapsed, finding his 
domestic affairs absolutely required female super- 
intendence, the widower paid his addresses to a 
young woman in the neighbourhood. The re- 



§5 



y M 



m 



w 






collection, however, of his former wife, whom he A The minister, a sensible man, argued with his > 



& 






S3 



had tenderly loved, haunted his slumbers ; and, 
one morning, he came to the clergyman of the 
parish in the utmost dismay, declaring that she 
had appeared to him the preceding night, in- 
formed him that she was a captive in Fairy Land, 
and conjured him to attempt her deliverance. 
She directed him to bring the minister, and cer- 
tain other persons, whom she named, to her 
grave at midnight. Her body was then to be 
dug up, and certain prayers recited ; after which 
the corpse was to become animated, and fly from 
them. One of the assistants, the swiftest runner 
in the parish, was to pursue the body ; and, if he 
was able to seize it, before it had thrice encircled 
the church, the rest were to come to his assist- 
ance, and detain it, in spite of the struggles it 
should use, and the various shapes into which it 
might be transformed. The redemption of the 
abstracted person was then to become complete. 



* To these I have now to add the following 
instance of redemption from Fairy Land. The 
legend is printed from a broadside still popular 
in Ireland : — 

" Near the town of Aberdeen, in Scotland, 
lived James Campbell, who had one daughter 
named Mary, who was married to John Nelson, 
a young man of that neighbourhood. Shortly 
after their marriage, they being a young couple, 
they went to live in the town of Aberdeen, where 
he followed his trade, being a goldsmith ; they 
lived loving and agreeable together until the 
time of her lying in, when there was female at- 
tendants prepared suitable to her situation ; 
when near the hour of twelve at night they were 
alarmed with a dreadful noise, at which of a 
sudden the candles went out, which drove the 
attendants in the utmost confusion ; soon as the 
women regained their half-lost senses, they call d 
in the neighbours, who, after striking up lights, 
and looking towards the lying-in woman, found 
h?r a corpse, which caused great confusion in the 
family. There was no grief could exceed that of 
her husband, who, next morning, prepared or- 
naments for her funeral ; people of all sects came 
to her wake, amongst others came the reverend 
Mr Dodd, who, at first sight of the corpse, said, 
it's not the body of any Christian, but that Mrs 



parishioner upon the indecency and absurdity of 
what was proposed, and dismissed him. Next 
Sunday, the banns being for the first time pro- 
claimed betwixt the widower and his new bride, 
his former wife, very naturally, took the oppor- 
tunity of the following night to make him 
another visit, yet more terrific than the former. 
She upbraided him with his incredulity, his fickle- 
ness, and his want of affection ; and, to convince 
him that her appearance was no aerial illusion, 
she gave suck, in his presence, to her youngest 
child. The man, under the greatest horror of 
mind, had again recourse to the pastor; and his 
ghostly counsellor fell upon an admirable expe- 
dien t to console him. This was nothing less than 
dispensing with the former solemnity of banns, 
and marrying him, without an hour's delay, to f 
the young woman to whom he was affianced; 
after which no spectre again disturbed his repose.* 



Nelson was taken away by the Fairies, and what 
they took for her was only some substance left in 
her place. He was not believed, so he refused 
attending her funeral ; they kept her in the fol- 
lowing night, and next day she was interred. 

" Her husband, one evening after sunset, being 
riding in his own field, heard a most pleasant 
concert of music, and soon afcer espied a woman 
coming towards him diest in white ; she being 
veiled he could not observe her face, yet he rode 
near her, and asked her very friendly who she was 
that chose to walk alone so late in the evening ? 
at which she unveiled her face, and burst into 
tears, saying, I am not permitted to tell you who 
I am. He knowing her to be his wife, asked her, 
in the name of God, what disturbed her, or occa- 
sioned her to appear at that hour ? She said her 
i appearing at any hour was of no consequence; for 
j though you Lelieve me to be dead and buried, I 
1 am not, but was taken away by the Fairies the 
I night of my delivery ; you only buried a piece of 
■ wood in my place ; I can be recovered if you take 
proper means ; as for my child, it has three nurses 
i to attend it, but I fear it cannot be brought 
I home; the greatest dependence 1 have on any 
j person is my brother Robert, who is a captain of 
! a merchant ship, and will be home in ten days 
hence. Her husband ask. d her what means he 



vii 



Having concluded thes? general observations 

upon the Fairy superstition, which, although 

' minute, may not, I hope, be deemed altogether 



' should take to win her ? She told him he should 
rind a letter, the Sunday morning following, on 
the desk in his own room, directed to her brother, 
wherein there would be directions for winning 
her. Since my heing taken from you I have had 
the attendance of a queen or empress, and if you 
look over my right shoulder you will see several 
of my companions; he then did as she desired, 
when, at a small distance, he saw a king and 
queen sitting, beside a moat, on a throne in 
splendour. 

" She then desired him to look to right and 
left, which he did, and observed other kings on 
each side of the king and queen, well guarded. 
He said, I fear it is an impossibility to win you 
from such a place ; no, says she, were my brother 
Robert here in your place, he would bring me 
home; but let it nut encourage you to attempt 
the like, for that would occasion the loss of me 
for ever : there is now severe punishment threat- 
ened to me for speaking to you ; but, to prevent 
that, do you ride up to the moat, where (suppose 
you will see no person), all you now see will be 
near you, and do you threaten to burn all the 
old thorns and brambles that is round the moat, 
if you do not get a firm promise that I shall get 
no punishment, I shall be forgiven; which he 
promised. She then disappeared, and he lost 
sight of all he had seen ; he then rode very reso- 
lutely up to the moat, and went round it, vowing 
he would burn all about it if be w^uld not get a 
promise that his wife should get no hurt; a 
voice desired him to cast away a book was in his 
pocket, and then demand his n. quest ; he an- 
swered he would not part his book, but grant his 
request, or they should find the effect of his rage ; 
the voice answered, that upon honour she should 
be forgave that fault, but for him to suffer no 
prejudice to come to the moat, which he pro- 
mised to fulfil, at which he heard a m< st pleasant 
music. He then returned home, and sent for the 
reverend Mr Dodd, and related to him what he 
had seen ; Mr Dodd staid with him till Sunday 
morning following, when, as Mr Nelson looked 
on the desk in his room, he espied a letter, which 
he took up, it being directed to her brother, who in 
a few days came home ; on his receiving the letter 
he opened it, wherein he found the following : 



uninteresting, I proceed to the more particular C 
illustrations, relating to " The Tale of the Young (p"**) 
Tamlane." 



' Dear Brother, — My husband can relate to 
you my present circumstances. I request that 
you will (the first night after you see this) come 
to the moat where I parted my husband ; let 
nothing daunt you, but stand in the centre of the 
moat at the hour of twelve at night, and call me, 
when I with several others will surround you ; I v 
shall have on the whitest dress of any in company, 
then take hold of me, and do not forsake me; all 
the frightful methods they shall use let it not sur- 
prize you, but keep your hold, suppose they con- 
tinue till cock-crow, when they shall vanish all 
of a tudden, and I shall be safe, when I will re- 
turn home and live with my husband. If you 
succeed in your attempt, you will gain applause 
from all your friends, and have the blessing of 
your ever-loving and affectionate sister, 

Mary Nelson.' 

" No sooner had he read the letter than he 
vowed to win his sister and her child, or perish 
in the attempt; he returned to his ship, and re- 
lated to his sailors the consequence of the letter ; 
he delayed till ten at night, when his loyal sailors 
offered to go with him, which he refused, think- 
ing it best to go alone. As he left his ship a 
frightful lion came roaring towards him ; he 
drew his sword and struck at the lion, which he 
observed was of no substance, it being only the 
appearance of one to terrify him in his attempt ; 
it only encouraged him, so that he proceeded to 
the moat, in the centre of which he observed a j 
white handkerchief spread ; on which he was 
sur.ounded by a number of women, the cries of 
whom were the most frightful he ever heard ; his 
sister being in the whitest dress of any round him, 
he seized her by the right hand, and said, With 
the heip of God, I will preserve you from all in- 
fernal imps; when, of a sudden, the moat seemed 
to be on fire round him. He likewise heard the 
most dreadful thunder could be imagined ; fright- 
ful birds and beasts seemed to make towards him ; 
out of the fire, which he knew was not real; 
nothing daunted his courage ; he kept hold of 
his sister f r the space of an hour and three < 
quarters, when the cocks began to crow ; then 
the fire disappeared, and all the frightful imps 
vanished. He held her in his arms, and fell on 
his knees and gave God thauks for his proceed- 



The following ballad, still popular in Ettrick ■ 
Forest, where the scene is laid, is certainly of 
much greater antiquity than its phraseology, 
gradually modernized as transmitted by tradition, 
would seem to denote. The " Tale of the Young 
Tamlane " is mentioned in the " Complaynt of 
Scotland ;" and the air, to which it was chaunt- 
ed, seems to have been accommodated to a par- 
ticular dance ; for the dance of " Thom of Lynn," 
another variation of " Thomalin," likewise occurs 
in the same performance. Like every popular 
subject, it seems to have been frequently paro- 
died ; and a burlesque ballad, beginning, 
" Tom o' the Linn was a Scotsman born," 

is still well known. 

In a medley, contained in a curious and an- 
cient MS. cantus, penes J. G. Dalyell, Esq., 
there is an allusion to our ballad : — 

" Sing young Thouilin, be merry, be merry, and 
twice so merry." 

In " Scottish Songs," 1774, a part of the origi- 
nal tale was published under the title of" Kerton 

l';" a corruption of Carterhaugh ; and, in the 
same collection, there is a fragment, containing 
two or three additional verses, beginning, 

" I'll wager, I'll wager, i'll wager with you," &c. 

In Johnston's "Musical Museum, a more 
Jp^" ] complete copy occurs, under the title of " Thom 
Linn," which, with some alterations, was re- 
printed in the " Tales of Wonder." 

The present edition is the most perfect which 



ings that night ; he believing her cloathingto be 
light, he put his outside coat on her; she then 
embraced him, saying, she was now safe, as he 

1 put any of his cloathing on her; he then brought 
her home to her husband, which occasioned 
great rejoicing. Her husband and he began to 
conclude to destroy the moat in revenge of the 
child they had away, when instantly they heard 
a voice, which said, you shall have your son safe 
and well on condition that you will not till the 

i ground within three perches of the moat, nor 



has yet appeared ; being prepared from a colla- 
tion of the printed copies with a very accurate 
one in Glenriddell's MSS., and with several re- 
citals from tradition. Some verses are omitted 
in this edition, being ascertained to belong to a 
separate ballad, which will be found in a subse- 
quent part of the work. In one recital only, the 
well-known fragment of the " Wee, wee Man," 
was introduced, in the same measure with the 
rest of the poem. It was retained in the first 
edition, but is now omitted ; as the editor has 
been favoured, by the learned Mr Ritson, with a 
copy of the original poem, of which it is a de- 
tached fragment. The editor has been enabled 
to add several verses of beauty and interest to 
this edition of " Tamlane," in consequence of a 
copy, obtained from a gentleman residing near 
Langholm, which is said to be very ancient, 
though the diction is somewhat of a modern cast. 
The manners of the Fairies are detailed at consi- 
derable length, and in poetry of no common 
merit. 

Carterhaugh is a plain, at the conflux of the 
Ettrick and Yarrow in Selkirkshire, about a mile 
above Selkirk, and two miles below Newark 
Castle; a romantic ruin, which overhangs the 
Yarrow, and which is said to have been the habi- 
tation of our hen ine's father, though others 
place his residence in the tower of Oakwood. 
The peasants point out, upon the plain, those 
electrical rings, wh"ch vulgar credulity supposes 
to be traces of the Fairy revels. Here, they say, 
were placed the stands of milk, and of water, in 



damage bushes or brambles round that place, 
which they agreed to, when, in a few minutes, 
the child was left on his mother's knee, which 
caused them to kneel and return thanks to God. 
" The circumstance of this terrifying affair was 
occasioned by leaving Mrs Nelson, the night of 
her lying-in, in the care of women who were 
mostly intoxicated with liquor. It is requested 
both sexes will take notice of the above, and not 
leave women in distress, but with people who at 
such times mind their duty to God." 



which " Tamlane" was dipped, in order to effect s», 
the disenchantment; and upon these spots, ac- 
cording to their mode of expressing themselves, 
the grass will never grow. Miles Cross (perhaps 
a corruption of Mary's Cross,) where fair Janet 
awaited the arrival of the Fairy train, is said to 
have stood near the duke of Buccleuch's seat of 
Bowhill, about half a mile from Carterhaugh. 
In no part of Scotland, indeed, has the belief in 
Fairies maintained its ground with more perti- 
nacity than in Selkirkshire. The most sceptical 
among the lower ranks only venture to assert, 
that their appearances, and mischievous exploits, 
have ceased, or at least become infrequent, since 
the light of the Gospel was diffused in its purity. 
One of their frolics is said to have happened late 
in the last century. The victim of elfin sport 
was a poor man, who, being employed in pulling | 
heather upon Peatlaw, a hill not far from Car- i 



terhaugh, had tired of his labour, and laid him 
down to sleep upon a Fairy ring. When he 
awakened, he was amazed to find himself in the 
midst of a populous city, to which, as well as to 
the means of his transportation, he was an utter 
stranger. His coat was left upon the Peatlaw ; 
and his bonnet, which had fallen off in the course 
of his aerial journey, was afterwards found hang- 
ing upon the steeple of the church of Lanark. 
The distress of the poor man was, in some degree, 
relieved, by meeting a carrier, whom he had 
formerly known, and who conducted him back 
to Selkirk, by a slower conveyance than had 
whirled him to Glasgow. — That he had been 
carried off by the Fairies was implicitly believed 
by all, who did not reflect, that a man may have 
private reasons for leaving his own country, 
and for disguising his having intentionally 
done so. 



K %$t ¥® 



O I forbid ye, maidens a', 

That wear gowd on your hair, 

To come or gae by Carterhaugh 
For young Tamlane is there. 

There's nane, that gaes by Carterhaugh, 
But maun leave him a wad, 

Either goud rings, or green mantles, 
Or else their maidenheid. 

Xow, gowd rings ye may buy, maidens, 
Green mantles ye may spin ; 

But, gin ye lose your maidenheid, 
Ye'll ne'er get that agen. 

But up then spak her, fair Janet, 

The fairest o' a' her kin ; 
" I'll cum and gang to Carterhaugh, 

And ask nae leave o' him." 




Janet has kilted her green kirtle, * 

A little abune her knee ; 
And she has braided her yellow hair, 

A little abune her bree. 

And when she came to Carterhaugh, 

She gaed beside the well ; 
And there she fand his steed standing, 

But away was himsell. 

She hadna pu'd a red red rose, 

A rose but barely three ; 
Till up and starts a wee wee man, 

At Lady Janet's knee. 

Says — " "V£hy pu' ye the rose, Janet ? 

What gars ye break the tree ? 
Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, 

Withouten leave o' me ?" 



* The ladies are always represented, in Dun- 
bar's Poems, with green mantles and yellow hair. 
— Maitland Poems, vol. i. p. 45. 







450 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



m 



m: 



& 



mi 






Says— "Carterhaugh it is mine ain ; 

My daddie gave it me ; 
I'll come and gang to Carterhaugh, 

And ask nae leave o' thee." 

He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, 

Amang the leaves sae green ; 
And what they did I cannot tell — 

The green leaves were between. 

He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, 

Amang the roses red ; 
And what they did I cannot say — 

She ne'er returned a maid. 

When she cam' to her father's ha*, 

She looked pale and wan ; 
They thought she*d dried some sair sickness, 

Or been wi r some leman. 

She didna comb her yellow hair, 

Nor make meikle o' her heid j 
And ilka thing that lady took, 

Was like to be her deid. 

It's four and twenty ladies fair 

Were playing at the ba' ; 
Janet, the wightest of them anes-, 

Was faintest o' them a'. 

Four and twenty ladies fair 

Were playing at the chess ; 
And out thei-e came the fair Janet, 

As green as any grass. 

Out and spak' an auld gray-headed knight, 

Lay o'er the castle wa' — 
" And ever alas J for thee, Janet, 

But we'll be Llamed a' !" 

" Now haud your tongue, ye auld gray knight! 

And an ill deid may ye die, 
Father n.y bairn on whom I will, 

I'll father nane on thee." 

Out then spak' her father d^ar, 

And he spak' meik and mild — 
" And ever, alas ! my sweet Janet, 

1 fear ye gae with child." 

" And, if I be with child, father, 

Mysell maun bear the blame ; 
There's ne'er a knight about your ha' 

Shall ha'e the bairnie's name. 



"And, if I be with child, father, 
'Twill prove a wondrous birth ; 

For well I swear I'm not wi' bairn 
To any man on earth. 

" If my love were an earthly knight, 

A s he's an elfin grey, 
I wadna gi'e my ain true love 

For nae lord that ye ha'e." 

She princked hersell and prinn'd hersell, 
By the ae light of the moon, 

And she's away to Carterhaugh, 
To speak wi' young Tamlane., 

And when she cam' to Carterhaugh, 

She gaed beside the well ; 
And there she saw the steed standing, 

But away was himsell. 

She hadna pu'd a double rose, 

A rose but only twae, 
When up and started young Tamlane, 

Says — " Lady, thou pu's nae mae i 

" Why pu' ye the rose, Janet, 

Within this garden grene, 
And a' to kill the bonnie babe, 

That we got us between ?" 

" The truth ye'll tell to me, Tamlane ; 

A word ye mauna lie ; 
Gin e'er ye was in haly chapel, 

Or sained * in Christentie." 

" The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet, 

A word I winna lie; 
A knight me got, and a lady me bore, 

As well as they did thee. 

" Randolph, earl Murray, was my sire, 
Dunbar, earl March, is thine ; f 

We loved when we were children small, 
Which yet you well may mind. 



* Sained — Hallowed. 

f Both these mighty chiefs were connected with 
Ettrick Forest and its vicinity. Their memory, 
therefore, lived in the traditions of the country. 
Randolph, earl of Murray, the renowned nephew 
of Robert Bruce, had a castle at Ha' Guards, in 
Annandale, and another in Peebles-shire, on the 
borders of the forest, the site of which is still 



" When I was a boy just turned of nine, 

My uncle sent for me, 
To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him, 

And keep him cumpanie. 

" There came a wind out of the north, 

A sharp wind and a snell ; 
And a dead sleep came over me, 

And frae my horse I fell. 

*' The Queen of Fairies keppit me, 

in yon green hill to dwell ; 
And I'm a fairy, Iyth and limb ; 

Fair lady, view me well 

" But we, that live in Fairy-land, 
No sickness know, nor pain ; 

I quit my body wiien 1 will, 
And take to it again. 

" I quit my body when I please, 

Or unto it repair ; 
We can inhabit, at our ease, 

In either earth or air. 

" Our shapes and size we can convert 

To either large or small ; 
An old nut-shell's the same to us, 

As is the lofty hall. 

** We sleep in rose-buds, soft and sweet, 

We revel in the stream ; 
We wanton lightly on the wind, 

Or glide on a sun-beam. 

" And all our wants are well supplied, 
From every rich man's store, 

Who thankless sins the gifts he gets, * 
And vainly grasps for more. 



called Randall's Walls. Patrick of Dunbar, earl 
of March, is said, by Henry the Minstrel, to have 
retreated to Ettrick Forest, after being defeated 
by Wallace.— Scott. 

* To sin our gifts or mercies, means, ungrate- 
fully to hold them in slight esteem. The idea, 
that the possessions of the wicked are most ob- 
noxious to the depredations of evil spirits, may 
be illustrated by the following tale of a Buttery 
Spirit, extracted from Thomas Heywood : — 

An ancient and virtuous monk came to visit 
his ne; hew, an innkeeper, and, after other dis- 
course, enquired into his circumstances. Mine 



" Then I would never tire, Janet, 

In elfish land to dwell ; 
But aye at every seven years, 

They pay the teind to hell ; 
And I am sae fat, and fair of fieslu 

I fear 'twill be mysell. 

" This night is Hallowe'en, Janet, 

The morn is Hallovvday; 
And, gin ye dare your true love win, 

Ye ha'e na time to stay. 

" The night it is good Hallowe'en, 

When fairy folk will ride ; 
And they, that wad their true love win. 

At Miles Cross they mauu bide." 

" But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane ? 

Or how shall I thee knaw, 
Amang so many unearthly knights, 

The like I never saw ? " 



host confessed, that, although he practised all 
the unconscionable tricks of his trade, he was still 
miserably poor. The monk shook his head, and 
asked to see his buttery, or larder. As they 
looked into it, he rendered visible to the aston- 
ished host an immense goblin, whose paunch, 
and whole appearance, bespoke his being gorged 
with food, and who, nevertheless, was gorman- 
dizing at the innkeeper's expense, emptying 
whole shelves of food, and washing it down with 
entire hogsheads of liquor. " To the depredation 
of this visitor will thy viands be exposed," quoth 
the uncle, " until thou shaltabandon fraud, and 
false reckonings." The monk returned in a year. 
The host having turned over a new leaf, and given 
Christian measu.e to his customers, was now a 
thriving man. When they again inspected the 
larder, they saw the same spirit, but wofully re- 
duced in size, and in vain attempting to reach 
at the full plates and bottles, which stood around 
him ; starving, in short, like Tantalus, in the 
midst of plenty. Honest Heywood sums up the 
tale thus : — 



In this discourse, far be it we should u;ean 
Spirits by meat are faited made, or ieau , 
\et certain 'tis, by God's pet mission, tney 
luay, over goods extorted, uear like sway. 

All such as study fraud, and practise evil, 
Do only starve themselves to plumpe the devill. 
Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, p. 577. 



m 



vs. 



C©0 

§1 



'* The first company, that passes by, 

Say na, and let them gae ; 
The next company, that passes by, 

Say na, and do right sae ; 
The third company, that passes by, 

Than I'll be ane o' thae. 

" First let pass the black, Janet, 

And syne let pass the brown ; 
But grip ye to the milk-white steed, 

And pu' the rider down. 

" For I ride on the milk-white steed, 

And aye nearest the town ; 
Because I was a christened knight, 

They gave me that renown. 

" My right hand will be gloved, Janet, 

My left hand will be bare ; 
And these the tokens I gi'e thee, 

Nae doubt I will be there. 

" They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, 

An adder and a snake ; 
But had me fast, let me not pass, 

Gin ye wad be my maike. 

" They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, 

An adder and an ask ; 
They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, 

A bale * that burns fast. 

M They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, 

A red-hot gad o' aim ; 
But had me fast, let me not pass, 

For I'll do you no harm. 

" First dip me in a stand o' milk, 

And then in a stand o' water ; 
But had me fast, let me not pass — 

I'll be your bairn's father. 

" And, next, they'll shape me in your arms, 

A tod, but and an eel ; 
But had me fast, nor let me gang, 

As you do love me weel. 

" They'll shape me in your arms, Janet, 

A dove, but and a swan ; 
And, last, they'll shape me in your arms, 

A mother-naked man : 



Cast your green mantle over me — 
I'll be myself again." 

Gloomy, gloomy, was the night, 

And eiryf was the way, 
As fair Janet, in her green mantle, 

To Miles Cross she did gae. 

The heavens were black, the night was 
dark, 

And dreary was the place ; 
But Janet stood, with eager wish, 

Her lover to embrace. 

Betwixt the hours of twelve and one, 

A north wind tore the bent; 
And straight she heard strange eiritch 
sounds 

Upon that wind which went. 

About the dead hour o' the night, 

She heard the bridles ring; 
And Janet was as glad o' that, 

As any earthly thing 1 

Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill, 
The hemlock small blew clear ; 

And louder notes from hemlock large, 
And bog -reed struck the ear ; 

But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts, 
The Fairies cannot bear. 

They sing, inspired with love and joy, 

Like sky -larks in the air ; 
Of solid sense, or thought that's grave, 

You'll find no traces there. 

Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved, 

The dreary heath upon ; 
And louder, louder wax'd the sound, 

As they came riding on. 

"Will o' Wisp before them went, 

Sent forth a twinkling light ; 
And soon she saw the Fairy bands 

All riding in her sight. 

And first gaed by the black black steed 
And then gaed by the brown ; 

But fast she gript the milk-white steed, 
And pu'd the rider down. 




si 



She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed, 

And loot the bridle fa' ; 
And up there raise an erlish * cry — 

"He's won amang us a' !" 

They shaped him in fair Janet's arms, 

An esk, |- but and an adder ; 
She held him fast in every shape — 

To be her bairn's father. 

They shaped him in her arms at last, 

A mother-naked man ; 
She wrapt him in her green mantle, 

And sae her true love wan, 

Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies, 

Out o' bush o' broom— 
" She that has borrowed young Tamlane, 

Has gotten a stately groom." 

Vp then spake th« Qiu en of Fairies, 

Out o' a bush of rye — 
" She's ta'en awa' the bonniest knight 

In a' my cumpanie. 

'" But had I kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, 
" A lady wad borrowed thee — 

I wad ta'en out thy twa gray een, 
Put in twa een o' tree. 

** Had I but kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, 
" Before ye came frae hame — 

I wad tane out your heart o' flesh, 
Put in a heart o' stane. 

*' Had I but had the wit yestreen, 

That I ha'e coft £ the day — 
I'd paid my kane seven times to heLL 

Ere you'd been won away i" 



^==1 [This fragment is from "A New Book of Old 

^vj Ballads," Edinburgh, 1844. It differs consider- 

■=e\ ably from the preceding.] 

- ==: ! all you ladies young and gay, 

o{p/j "Who are so sweet and fair ; 

VS^ Do not go into Chaster's wood, 

y^N For Tomlin will be there. 



Fair Margaret sat in her bonny bower, 

Sewing her silken seam ; 
And wished to be in Chaster's wood, 

Among the leaves so green. 

She let the seam fall to her foot, 

The needle to her toe ; 
And she has gone to Chaster's wood, 

As fast as she could go. 

When she began to pull the flowers, 
She pull'd both red and green ; 

Then by did come, and by did go, 
Said, " Fair maid let abene. 

" O ! why pluck you the flowers, lady, 
Or why climb you the tree ; 

Or why come ye to Chaster's wood 
Without the leave of me ?" 

" ! I will pull the flowers," she said, 

" Or I will break the tree, 
For Chaster's wood it is my own ; 

I'll ask no leave at the.e." 

He took her by the milk-white hand, 
And by the grass-green sleeve ; 

And Liid her down upon the flowers ; 
At her he ask'd no leave. 

The lady blush'd and sourly frown'd, 
And she did think great shame ; 

Says, "If you are a gentleman, 
You will tell me your name." 

" First they did call me Jack," he said, 
" And then they call'd me John ; 

But since I liv'd in the fairy court, 
Toinliu has always been my name. 

" So do not pluck that flower, lady, 
That has these pimples gray ; 

They would destroy the bonny babe 
That we've gotten in our play." 

"O ! tell to me, Tomlin," she said, 

" And tell it to me soon ; 
Was you ever at a good church door, 

Or got you Christendom ?" 

" ! I have been at good church door, 

And oft her yetts within ; 
I was the laird of Foulis's 9 n, 

The heir of all his land. 



$ 






\Jrir 



m. 



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W) 



" But it fell once upon a day, 

As hunting 1 did ride ; 
As I rode east and west yon hill, 

There woe did me betide. 

" O ! drowsy, drowsy as I was. 

Dead sleep upon me fell ; 
The Queen of fairies she was there, 

And took me to hersel. 

"The morn at even is Hallowe'en, 

O ur fairy court will ride 
Through England and Scotland both, 

Through all the world wide ; 
And if that ye would me borrow. 

At Rides Cross ye may bide. 

"You may go into the Miles Moss, 
Between twelve hours and one ; 

Take holy water in your hand, 
And cast a compass round. 

" The first court that comas along, 
You'll let them all pass by ; 

The next court that comes along, 
Salute them reverently. 

" The next court that comes along, 

Is clad in robes of green ; 
And it's the head court of them all, 

For in it rides the Queen. 

" And I upon a milk white steed, 
With a gold star in my crown ; 

Because I am an earthly man, 
I'm next the Queen in renown. 

" Then seize upon me with a spring, 
Then to the ground I'll fa' ; 

And then you'll hear a rueful cry, 
That Tomlin is awa\ 

" Then I'll grow in your arms two, 

Like to a savage wild ; 
But hold me fast, let me not go, 

I'm father of your child. 

■ ' I'll grow into your arms two 
Like an adder, or a snake ; 

But hold me fast, let me not go, 
I'll be your earthly maik. 

"•I'll grow into your arms two, 
Like ice on frozen lake ; 



& But hold me fast, let me not go, 
Or from your goupen break. 

" I'll grow into your arms two, 

Like iron in strong fire ; 
But hold me fast, let me not go, 

Then you'll have your desire." 

And its next night into Miles Moss, 

Pair Margaret has gone ; 
When lo she stands beside Rides Cross, 

Between twelve hours and one. 

There's holy water in her hand, 
She casts a compass round; 

And presently a fairy band 
Comes riding o'er the mound. 



&t 



sBucifot*, 



[A Ballad by James Tei.fkr, with an Intro- 
duction by Robert White, of Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne ; printed in the legendary portion of " The 
Local Historian's Table Book for Northumber- 
land and Durham, 1843." The ballad itself ori- 
ginally appeared in a small volume, published at 
Jedburgh in 1824.] 

[Although the light of knowledge has, to a 
considerable degree, dispersed innumerable sha- 
dows which the vivid imagination of our ances- 
tors invested with the attributes of reality, a 
belief in Fairy Mythology still lingers with those 
who reside in the unfrequented recesses of the 
Border Hills. Simple, pious men, attending 
their hirsels, and occasionally carrying the bible 
in their plaid neuks, will, on going their rounds, 
point out somegreen knoll or level haugh bounded 
by a slender brook, where the "good neighbours " 
were, in former times, wont to hold their joyous 
revelry. Not one may acknowledge he ever saw 
a fairy; but many will admit that such beings 
have been seen : and, rather than yield up this 
point of credence, some would even be more ready- 
to swerve from faith in matters of infinitely higher 
importance. Much light, I am aware, has been 
thrown on this department of superstition by the 
pens of far abler commentators ; yet as I intend 
to make thereon some additional observations, by 
sfo way of illustrating both the following ballad and 



similar pieces of fiction, I shall endeavour to 
confine myself to those opinions of the subject 
which prevailed on the boundaries of England 
and Scotland, handling them, if possible, in a I 
way that may possess some slight interest to the j 
generality of readers. 

Without either searching from whence the I 
word fairy was derived, or noticing the splendid i 
illusions which have been made to the elves by j 
nearly all our old masters of British poetry, I I 
may say they were considered to be little wee, \ 
slightly formed beings, beautifully proportioned j 
in limb and stature, having fine flaxen or yellow j 
hair waving over their shoulders ; and they chi-fiy 
wore green mantles, although the robes of those j 
who haunted moory districts, assumed a brown- 
ish hue, so as to be nearly uniform with the | 
appearance of these upland places. They were | 
of different sexes, and the dress of the females, i 
like that of mortals, varied in shape from male 
apparel, yet it retained almost the same colour, j 
In their raids or journeys, which took place to- 
wards and after night-fall, they mounted little, I 
dapper, cream-coloured horses, neatly saddled j 
and bridled, with small bells attached either to ! 
the reins or mane, the shrill tinkling sound of i 
which, as the procession hastened onward, I 
reached the human ear at a great distance. I 
Neither bank, furze, wall nor stream stayed : 
them, nor could the slightest trace of the horse's I 
foot-prints be seen ; even their own tiny feet in 
the course of their gambollings left no mark 
whatever, save in the meadow rings in which 
they danced roundels to their wild music, under ; 
the mellow moonlight. The times, when they 
were most likely to be seen, were either in the 
gray gloaming, or in the paly light at break of j 

I day. On the evening preceding the first of -day, 
they were supposed to possess the power of in- 
flicting evil in various ways on those luckless 
wights from whom they had sustained injury, or 
who had treated or spoken of them disrespect- 
fully ; and on Hallowe'en, or the night before 
Roodsmass, a kind of anniversary or general 

I meeting of the whole fraternity usually t;ok 
place, after which it was no uncommon circum- 

i stance if they mounted on horseback, and tra- 

/ versed a very large tract of country in a marvel- 

j lously short space of time. 

They resided chiefly in small green hills, slop- 

' ing gently to the south ; the openings to their 

! places of abode were undistinguishable by mor- 
tals, and a soft mild light without the aid of 
lamp, moon, or sun was shed continually th: ough- 



out their halls and chambers, which, in point of 
decoration, outvied the gorgeous magnificence of 
Eastern palaces. Sometimes they preferred to 
live near, and indeed almost under human habi- 
tations ; but they were more at home when at a 
distance from mankind, and they held their 
meetings of merry revelry always in wild unfre- 
quented places. Beautiful and romantic spots, 
such as a smooth opening in a forest, a piece of 
level sward with a hoary hawthorn in the centre, 
the vicinity of a gushing spring surrounded by 
verdant banks, a wild sequestered linn, or the 
side of a burn whose mimic waves, twittering 
over rock and channel, produced everlasting mu- 
sic, were with them all favourite haunts. Even 
in our own day, many places are pointed out as 
having formerly been the chief resorts of the elfin 
people. A small stream called the Elwin or Al- 
lan which fails into the Tweed from the north, a 
little above Melrose, was a noted locality ; so also 
was Beaumont water on the north of Cheviot, 
and the gravelly beds of both are remarkable for 
a kind of small stones of a rounded or spiral 
form, as if produced from the action of a lathe, 
called " Eairy cups" and "dishes." The chief 
haunt in LiddesJale was a stream which empties 
itself into the Liddell from the south, called, 
Harden burn. On the north side of the village 
of G-unnerton in Northumberland is a small burn 
in the rocky channel of which are many curious 
perforations, called by the country people " Fai. y 
kirns :" similar indentations are likewise observ- 
able in the course of the Har; near Rothley. In 
Redesdale also, as our beloved and venerable 
Bard sings, " the "train" were accustomed to 
dance at the Ho westane -mouth, near Rochester, 
and at the Dow-craig top, a solitary spot about 
a mile north of Otterburne. In the county of 
Durham there is a large hill near Billingham 
and a hillock near Bishopton, both of which 
places were noted formerly as being haunted by 
fairies. 

Several places, likewise, derive their names 
from the circumstance of having been repeatedly 
the scenes of fairy-pastime. According to Rit- 
son, " Ferry-hill," a stage between Durham and 
Darlington, is a corruption of Fairy-hill." In 
Northumberland, the Dancing Hali near Calla- 
ley, the Dancing Green at Debdon in Rothbury 
forest, and the Elf Hills near Cambo, point out 



(M\ 






$3? 



I 









) Roxbv. 



"Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel by RoL-t. 
Newcastle, 1S0J." 







^ 









how fimily amongst our fathers the belief in 
fairy mythology was established. Even in the 
present day, there are many wells into which, 
especially if water be drawn therefrom, a pin or 
trifling article is usually dropped, as an oblation 
either to the elves, or the invisible guardians of 
the spot. 

So far the fairy folks may be considered as a 
class of beings entirely distinct from and alto- 
gether free of the slightest taint of human na- 
ture; but superstition has attributed to them 
several properties, which are indeed nothing 
more than detached links of the great chain 
which circumscribes mortality. Possessing the 
power of becoming visible at pleasure, many 
instances are on record to show that they kept 
up more or less a continual" intercourse with 
human beings; and were even so very correct in 
their dealings, particularly in a domestic point 
of view, that they acquired the general designa- 
tion of the " good neighbours." They sometimes 
came even to houses, and asked for employment 
— for flax to spin or other work of a similar de- 
scription ; and on obtaining it, they never failed 
to perform their engagements both speedily, and 
so as to afford the employer the utmost satisfac- 
tion. They were also much addicted to borrow 
such articles as are chiefly required about a house 
— meal, for instance, kitchen utensils, &c, and 
always observed the greatest punctuality in mak- 
ing honourable restitution. It seldom occurred 
that, in any request of this kind, they met with 
a refusal ; and indeed if they did, ample ven- 
geance was sure to descend on whoever mani- 
fested such churlish conduct. They had also 
their feasts. A story is told of a person coming 
upon them when they were about to partake of 
one : they invited him to stay, and his welcome 
was most cordial. The viands were excellent, 
but had a singular flavour about them, such as 
he never before experienced, and which he could 
not possibly describe. Hence it will be seen that 
their processions on horseback, their amuse- 
ments, their meetings at stated periods, their 
places of abode, their difference of sexes and 
procreation of children, their wants, manners, 
dress and appearance — all bore a collateral re- 
semblance to, and were closely in imitation of 
what is practised by the human race. Indeed 
they seem to have possessed a continual desire to 
change their own offspring for those of mortals ; 
and, therefore, the chief fears entertained anent 
them arose from the belief that they stole away 
unckriatened weans, substituting at the same time 



their own tiny, sickly children : hence, mother's 
and nurses wers accustomed to be particularly 
careful of new-born infants. "When the attempt 
to carry away a scion of the human stock was 
successful, the elves were, however, so liberal as 
to tend it with great kindness, and, by degrees, 
they brought it to partake almost of their own 
qualities: it was invisible, and as it grew up, 
they initiated it into their mysteries— in short it 
lived and was treated as one of themselves. On 
the other hand, the changeling was a wearisome, 
discontented, yammering creature : the mother 
who reared it had neither " night's rest nor day's 
ease ;" and when it had Iain years in the cradle, 
it was merely a cunning, ricketty, stunted, sem- 
blance of humanity. * If the mother came to 
know that it belonged to the invisible world, 
tricks and spells were practised to get quit of the 
thing, and receive back her own child ; but as 
these varied considerably, it is perhaps unneces- 
sary here to bring them before the reader. Salves, 
seeds and herbs of various kinds were likewise 
supposed to be efficacious in enabling the pos- 
sessor both to discover the fairy people, and to 
ward off their offensive designs ; yet as an enu- 
meration of these, and the modes of their appli- 
cation would lead us beyond the limits we intend 
to occupy, they must also, for the present, be 
passed over. 

Tradition likewise ascribes to the fairy folk the 
charge of not only falling in love with the finest 
and fairest specimens of the sons and daughters 
of men, but of carrying them away to their own 
regions, and detaining them there for an inde- 



* At Byerholm, near Newcastleton in Liddesdale, 
within the last twenty years, a dwarf called Robert 
Elliot, but more frequently "Little Hobbie o' the 
Castle ton " was alive, and reputed to be a fairy change- 
ling. He was a most irascible creature; and when 
insulted, as he frequently was, by boys and others, he 
never hesitated a moment to draw his gully or dirk, 
for the purpose of sacrificing them ; but as he was 
woefully short legged, they generally escaped by flight. 
He was revengeful, and by no means deficient in 
courage. On hearing that a neighbour, William Scott 
o( Kn ndean, an able, stout, brave borderer, who stood 
6ft. 3in. high, had been spreading reports calculated 
to injure his reputation, the little man invited him to 
his house — took him up stairs to a room in which 
were a brace of pistols, with (wo swords, and, point- 
ing to the weapons, promptly demanded satisfaction 
for the offence. Scott adroitly backed to the door — 
got it open and hastily retreated, much to the disap- 
pointment of his host. He confessed afterwards that 
powerful as he was, his heart nearly failed him when 
the deformed being so suddenly disclosed his plan of 
gentlemanly adjustment. 



^ 



finite length of time. A strong desire to sleep 
would overtake the young man or young woman; 
and if he or she lay down and slumbered within 
the bounds of certain charmed rings, either 
would, on awaking, discover they had been con- 
veyed to fairy land. If any friend or relation 
volunteered to win them back, the feat, accord- 
ing to current opinion, had to be performed on 
the evening before Holy-rood (14th September) 
within a year and day from the time when they 
were taken away ; and to be successful, extraor- 
dinary coolness and address were requisite. If 
no attempt at recovery was made, the settlers in 
fairy land were, after the expiration of seven 
years, allowed to return occasionally to the world, 
during a similar period of time ; after which, 
they very rarely quitted their adopted country. 
Still, however pleasing and agreeable its verdant 
lawns, shady groves, and delightful valleys may 
have been, together with the soothing, unaffected 
courtesy of its inhabitants, those who were thus 
changed in nature are said to have retained the 
consciousness that they were not merely beyond 
the pale of salvation, but were liable, at certain 
periods, to be delivered up as a sacrifice to the 
arch-fiend himself: and this is assigned a3 one of 
the causes why the elves, to save their own num- 
bers, were desirous to retain amongst them vari- 
ous members of the human family. Instances, 
however, of adults being taken away were rare ; 
and the elves were scarcely ever dreaded on that 
account. Yet such a point in the popular creed 
deserves to be noticed, from its beautiful adapta- 
tion to the purposes of fiction, and the way in 
which authors have employed it in the construc- 
tion of some of the finest machinery in the whole 
range of romantic literature. 

The number and exertions of the clergy, and 
the general dissemination of the Scriptures, were, 
it is said, the leading causes which tended to the 
banishment of the fairies from this country. 
"Whenever a divine stationed himself on a fine 
green knoll, or within some sylvan boundary, 
and put up prayers to heaven, amidst his hearers, 
for the downfall of Satan and his emissaries, the 
little invisible people, however they might be 
attached to such localities, henceforth bade them 
adieu for ever. To the spread of the gospel, may 
also be added the circulation of knowledge, and 
the advancement of mathematical learning which 
so admirably qualifies the intellect, by inductive 
reasoning, to investigate and distinguish between 
error and truth. Many people also dip slightly 
into the fountain of knowledge, instead of drink- 



ing deeply of its wave ; and this too uften engen- 
ders a species of doubt and denial of all essences 
or things which cannot be distinctly either felt or 
seen. These, with probably other causes, drove 
from amongst us the light-footed, aerial elve9, 
who for many ages inhabited our pastoral soli- 
tudes, and which tradition says they quitted with 
the utmost regret. On the night when the chief 
number were supposed to take their departure, 
the air was filled from " dusky eve " till " dewy 
morn " with wailing and lamentation. 

After the general dispersion of the fairies, a 
few would seem to have remained here even un-il 
a comparatively recent date. Having already 
entered upon this subject at considerable length, 
I may be justified in bringing together some no* 
tices chiefly illustrative either of them, or what 
they were supposed to perform, which have been 
attested by veritable people, the greater number 
of whom were living within the memory of man. 
1 know that modern examples of this kind lie 
under the disadvantage of having to be placed, 
like a picture or cartoon, nearer to the spectator 
than the distance at which they are best seen, 
and must therefore be more palpable than could 
be wished ; yet the reader will, it is hoped, be 
liberal enough to make sufficient allowance for 
the experiment. They are the last, faint glimpses 
caught of a system, which to me, at least, is not 
without attraction ; and they seem like the re- 
maining broken and lonely columns of a ruined 
temple, observed when day has departed, and 

j immediately before they are shrouded in the 
shadow of night. 

On a fine summer evening as a clergyman, a 
resident of Redesdale in Northumberland, was 
returning on horseback from the Whitelee, and 
had advanced nearly half way between that place 
and Lumsden, he saw, at a short distance to the 
right before him, a party of the fairies forming a 
ring and about to commence the tripping of a 
gentle roundel. Music accompanied them, and 
its strains were delightfully mingled with the 
babbling of the brook which lapsed away beyond 
them, within a good bow-shot from the road. 
He turned his horse's head, and rode towards the 
place ; but in advancing, he observed the objects 
of his curiosity betake themselves to flight over 
a slight bank which intervened between him and 
the stream, and on arriving at a spot from which 
the whole plot of ground could be distinguished, 
they were no wh< re to be seen. No reasoning or 
argument afterwards could shake the reverend 

=« gentleman's opinion that ' there are more things 









Ct 



mj 



mi 




tr9 



M 



in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in our 
philosophy." 

Tosson water corn -mill, a little above Roth- 
bury, was occupied some time before the close of 
the last century, by a person of the name of 
Sproat. His wife, Tibby, who lived to a great 
age, often related the following incidents, espe- 
cially if the existence of fairies came to be dis- 
cussed in her presence ; and those who knew her 
upright disposition, would at any time, vouch 
for her strict adherence to what she conceived to 
be truth. "Ney, ninnies!" she would say, 
"Aw'll nit believe but there's fairies, though 
they dinnit kythe to e'en like ours. Aw mind 
nicely o' what happent, yin bonnie Spring 
gloamhr, when we hed Tosson mill. The gude- 
man set off the w T aitur, seest tu, an' just cam' in 
to get femily wurship : weel, ney seunur hed he 
ta'en the beuk, than the mill was set a gannin. 
He leukt at me as if he knaw'd the maitur ; but 
nevur stoppt wuv what he had i' hand, till we 
raise frev prayer. By this time the mill was 
stannin again, an' efcur waitin for hauf an hour, 
or sey, he went in, an' faund a' reet as he hed 
left it, except that the nioutar dish was nearly 
fou i v a' kinds iv grain but yits. He pat it through 
the mill : Aw beayk't a cake wuv the meal ; an 5 
we a' ate on't, except a dog 'at belang'd yin o' 
the lads. It leukt up i' wur faces, an' wadnt 
t >uch a bit; and, whithur elf-shot or no', nit 
yin could tell, but the yamphin thing dee't the 
neist day. 

" Anithur time the gudeman was plewin out 
at yin iv the hie fields ; and when the gadsman 
cam' tiv the landin', what soud he see but the 
greatur pairt iv a cake iv brede, lyin* just where 
the owsen turnt! He teukt up ; it leukt clean 
like: the gudeman an' him baith tasted it, an' 
gae the owsen pairt tey. Od, but yin o' them 
turnt away its head, an' wad hev nane, for a' 
they could dey. Weel, that neet, seest tu, the 
animal grew bad, and dee't within twey days, — 
a wairnin' tiv us a' that neythur body nor beast 
soud be owre positive i' their ain way. Nevur 
doubt, hinnies, iv theye things : doutin' leads 
aylways to muckle ill, an' ney geud '." 

Thus if. will be seen how readily any event or 
circumstance, which was difficult to reconcile 
with natural causes, might be ascribed to fairy 
agency ; and had the following inexplicable oc- 
currence caught the ear of any other person than 
one of strong mind and strict veracity, what 
excellent scope it would have furnished towards 
the shadowing forth of supernatural existence ! 




An old shepherd who lived at a solitary spot 
called the Swyrefoot on Hyndlee farm in Rule- 
water, Roxburgshire, had, on a time, the charge 
of a hirsel of nerv-speaned lambs. He arose from 
his bed one fine summer night, and went to the 
end of the house which stood on the brink of a 
linn, to listen if the lambs were rising, which, 
by their bleating, he could easily ascertain. .All 
was still and quiet in the direction where they 
lay ; " but," said he, " I heard a great pliteh- 
platching as it were o' some hundreds o' little 
feet i' the stream aboon the house. At first I 
was inclined to think it was the lambs ; but then 
the gray light o' a simmer's night loot me see the 
waiter clearly that nae lambs were there — indeed 
I could see naething ava. I stayed, an' stood 
listenin' an' lookin', no kenirin' what to make 
o't, when a' at yince the plitch-platching' ga'e 
owre, an' then there was sic a queer eiry nicher, 
as o' some hundreds o' creatures laughin', cam' 
frae the upper linn, as left me i' nae doubt that 
if fairies were still i' the land, they were at the 
Swyre-foot that night." 

1 come now to the last illustration of this sub- 
ject, and I account it not the less important, 
since it affords proof that the ground work of the 
following ballad is in strict keeping with popular 
superstition in the upper parts of Roxburghshire. 
I give it in the words of another old shepherd, 
Robert Oliver, by name, who lived at Southdean 
in Jed- water, and died ab ;ut a dozen years ago. 
"iSpeakin' o' Fairies," said Robie, "I can tell 
you about the vera last fairy that ever was seen 
hereaway. When my faither, Peter Oliver, was 
a young man, he lived at Hyndleee and herdit 
the Brockalaw. Weel, it was the custom to milk 
yowes i' thae days, and my faither was buchtin' 
the Brockalaw yowes to twae young, lish, clever 
hizzies ae night after sunset. Nae little ' daffin ' 
and gabbin,' as the sang sings, gaed on amang 
the threesome, Ise warrant ye, till at last, just as 
itbegoud to get faughish derk, my faither chanced 
! to look alang the lea at the head o' the bucht, 
and what does he see but a little wee creaturie, 
| a' clad i' green, and vvi' lang hair, yellow as 
gowd, hingin' round its shoulders, comin' straight 
for him, whyles gi'en a whink of a greet, and aye 
atween hands raisin' a queer, unyirth y cry — 
' Ha' ye seen Hewie Millburn ? O ha' ye seen 
Hewie Millburn ?' Instead o' making the crea- 
turie ony answer, my faither sprang ower the 
bucht flake to be near the lasses : he could only 
say * Bless us too, what's that ?' ' Ha, ha, Patie 
fr lad ! ' quo" Bessie Elliot, a free-spoken Liddesdale 



5\2 




Patie lad.' ' A wife,' said my faither, ' may the 
Lord keep me frae sic a wife as that ;' — and, as 
he confessed till his deein' day, he was at the 
JM time in sic a fear that he fand every hair on his 
<^t== \ head rise like the birses of a hurcheon. * Weel, 
(1=* **j there was nae mair said, and the creaturie — it 
\c&P\ was nae bigger than a three year auld lassie, but 
jv^^g feat and tight, lith and limb, as ony grown wo- 
ff^ ~ man, and its face was the doonright perfection 
L-==T\ o' beauty; only there was something wild and 
V \,C|] unyerthly in its e'en — they couldna be lookit at, ! 
c^V^Ti and less be describit — weel as I was sayin', it 
/"vSU didna molest them farther than it taiglet on 
§=■ =f\ about the buchte, ay now and then repeatin' its 
cry, ' Ha' ye seen Hewie Millburn ?' and they 
f ^£j could come to nae other conclusion, than that \ 
f*^K[\ H had tint its companion. When they left the f 
L/^ -d buchte, my faither and the lasses, it followed 
fl^Jpj them hame even into Hyndlee kitchen, where 
the kitchen -woman offered it yowe bross, but it 
wadna take onything, and at last a near-do-weel i 
cowherd callant made as if he wad grip it by the ' 
nose wi' a pair o' reid het tangs, and it appeared 
to be offendit, for it left the house and gaed 
away down the burn side, crying its auld cry, 
eeryer and waesomer than ever, till it came to a 
bush o' seggs f where it sauntit an' never was 
mair seen." 

It is now necessary that these observations be 
brought to a close. They occupy more space than 
was at first intended ; and still, I confess I leave 
them with regret. The will clings instinctively 
to whatever in former days characterized the 
land of our birth ; and what was told us in our 
boyhood, and formed food for thoughts which 
Fancy moulded at will, seem, now that the nar- 
rators are no more, like memorials "thrice hal- 
lowed," for the sake of those who bequeathed 
them. Indeed, so far am I swayed with this 
feeling, that I would willingly exchange a few of 
the dry, hard outlines of reality, which distin- 
guish the present age, for some of the soft, rich, 
mellow shades which a brilliant fancy threw so 
enchantingly around the ideal objects of bygone 
times. In the present day, the salutary influence 
of imagination over human existence would ap- 
pear to have almost lost its charm ; and what 
else, except religion, can be more redolent of in- 
tellectual enjoyment ? Amongst our forefathers, 
it was like the breath of Spring to nature, 
quickening into life not only " mute," but im- 



the night, ■& material " things ; " and if the leafless 



m 






tree and 
barren rock preserved then, as now, their ap- 
pearance unchanged, they gave relief to the 
luxuriance around them, rendering the green 
blade and blossoming bough still more beautiful 
and attractive.] 

The sun was reid as a furnace mouthe, 
As he sank on the Ettricke hyll ; 

And gloamyne gatherit from the easte, 
The do wye world to fill. 

When bonnye Jeanye Roole she milket the 
I' the buchte aboon the lynne ; [yowes 

And they were wilde and ill to weare, 
But the hindmost buchtfu' was inne. 

milk them weil, my bonnye Jeanye Roole, 

The wylye shepherd could say, 
And sing to me " The Kcache i" the Creel," 

To put the tyme away. 

It's fer owre late at e'en, shepherd, 

Repl , ed the maiden fair ; 
The fairies wad hear, quo' bonny Jeanye Roole, 

And wi* touting my back is sair. 

He's ta'en her round the middel sae sma', 
While the yowes ran bye between, 

And out o' the buchte he's layd her down, 
And all on the dewye green. 

The star o' love i' the eastern lifte 

Was the only e'e they saw ; — 
The only tongue that they might hear 

Was the lynne's deep murmuring fa'. 

O who can tell of youthfu' love ! 

O who can sing or say ! 
It is a theme for minstrel meete, 

And yet transcends his lay. 

It is a thraldome, well I weene, 

To hold the heart in sylke ; 
It is a draught to craze the braine, 

Yet mylder than the mylke. 

O sing me the sang, my bonnye Jeanye Roole, 

Now, dearest, sing to me ! 
The angels will listen at yon little holes, 

And witness my vowes to thee. 



m 






If 



Oew 



?5XJ 



And she satte in his armis, and sweetly she sang, 
And her voice rang frae the lynne. 

The liltings o' that sylver voice 

Might weel the wits beguile ; 
They clearer were than shepherd's pipe 

Heard o'er the hylls a mile. 

The liltings o' that sylver voice, 

That rose an' fell so free, 
They softer were than lover's lute 

Heard o'er a sleeping sea. 

The liltings o* that sylver voice 

Were melody sae true ; 
They sprang up-through the welkin wide 

To the heaven's key-stane blue. 

Sing on, sing on, my bonnye Jeanye Eoole, 

Sing on your sang sae sweet; — 
Now Chryste me save ! -quo' the bonnye lass, 

Whence comes that waesome greete ? 

They turned their gaze to the Mourning Cleuch, 
Where the greeting seemed to be, 

And there beheld a little greene bairne 
Come o'er the darksome lea. 

And aye it raised a waesome greete, 

Butte and an eiry crye, 
Untille it came to the buchte fauld ende, 

Where the wynsome payr did lye. 

It lookit around with its snail-cap eyne, 

That made their hearts to grou, 
Then turned upright its grass-green face, 

And opened its gobiyne mou* ; 

Then raised a youle, sae loude and lange — 

Sae yerlish and sae shrille. 
As dirkd up throwe the twinkling holes 

The second lifte untille. 

I tell the tale as tolde to me, 

I swear s:) by my faye ; 
And whether or not of glamourye, 

In soothe I cannot say. 

That youling yowte sae yerlish was, 

Butte and sae lang and loude, 
The rysing moone like saffron grewe, 

And holed ahint a cloude. i 



And round the boddome o' the lifte, 

It rang the worild through, 
And boomed against the milkye waye, 

Afore it closed its mou'. 

Then neiste it raised its note and sang 

Sae witchinglye and sweete, 
The moudies powtelit out o' the yirth, 

And kyssed the synger's feete. 

The waizle dnnne frae the auld grey cairn, 
The theiffe foulmart came nighe ; 

The hurcheon raxed his scory chafts, 
And gepit wi' girning joye. 

The todde he came frae the Screthy holes, 

And courit fou cunninglye ; 
The stinkan brocke wi' his lang lank lyske, 

Shotte up his gruntle to see. 

The kidde and martyne ranne a race 

Amang the dewye feme ; 
The mawkin gogglet i' the synger's face, 

Th' enchaunting notes to learne. 

The pert little eskis they curlit their tails, 
And danced a myrths >me reele ; 

The tade held up her auld dunne lufes, 
She lykit the sang sae weele. 

The herone came frae the Witch-pule tree, 
The houlet frae Deadwood-howe ; 

The auld gray corbie hoverit aboone, 
While tears downe his cheeks did flowe. 

The yowes they lap out owre the buchte, 

And skippit up and downe ; 
And bonnye Jeanye Roole, i' the shepherd's 

Fell back-out-owre in a swoone. [armis, 

It might be glamourye or not, 

In sooth I cannot say, 
It was the witching time of night — 

The hour o' gloamyne gray, 
And she that lay in her loveris armis 

I wis was a weel-faured Maye. 

Her pulses all were beatinge trewe, 

Her heart was loupinge lighte, 
Unto that wondrous melody — 

That simple song of mighte. 






The Songe. 

where is tinye Hewe ? 
O where is little Lenne ? 
And where is bonny Lu? 
And Menie o' the glenne ? 
And where's the place o' rest ? 
The ever changing hame — 
Is it the go wan "s breast, 
Or 'neath the bell o' faem ? 

Chorus — Ay lu Ian, Ian dil y'u, &c. 

The fairest rose you finde, 
May have a taint witbinne ; 
The flower o' womankinde, 
May ope her breast to sinne. — 
The fux-glove cuppe you'll bring, 
The taile of shootinge sterne, 
And at the grassy ring, 
We'll pledge the pith o' feme. 

Chor. — Ay lu Ian, lau dil y'u, &c. 

And when the blushing moone 
Glides down the western skye, 
By streamer's wing we soon 
Upon her top will lye ; — 
Her hichest horn we'll ride, 
And quaffe her yellowe dewe ; 
And frae her skaddowye side, 
The burning daye we'll viewe. 

Cjior.— Ay lu Ian, Ian dil y'u, &c. 



The straine raise high, the straine fell low, 

Then fainted fitfullye; 
And bounye Jeanye Boole she lookit up, 

To see what she might see. 

She lookit hiche to the bodynge hille, 
And laighe to the darklynge deane; — 

She heard the soundis still ringin' i' the lifte, 
But naethinge could be seene. 

She held her breathe with anxious eare, 
And thought it all a dreame ; — 

But an eiry nicher she heard i' the linne, 
And a plitch-platch in the streime. 

Xever a word said bonnye Jeanye Boole, 
Butte, shepherd, lette us gange ; 

And never mair, at a Gloamyne Buchte, 
Wald she singe another sange. 




tFitoM Mr Jamieson's collection, where it is 
said to be given from the recitation of Mr* 
Brown.] 

alison Gross, that lives in yon tower, 
The ugliest witch in the north countrie, 

Has trysted me ae day up till her bower, 
And mony fair speech she made to me. 

She straiked my head, and she kembed my hair. 
And she set me down saftly on her knee, 

Says, — " Gin ye will be ny lemman sae true, 
Sae mony braw things as 1 would you gi £.'' 

She shaw'd me a mantle o' red scarlet, 
Wi' gouden flowers and fringes fine, 

Says, " Gin ye will be my lemman sae true, 
This goodly gift it sail be thine." 

" Awa', awa', ye ugly witch, 
Haud far awa', and lat me be ; 

1 never will be your lemman sae true, 

And I wish I were out of your company." 

She neist brocht a sark o' the saftest silk, 
Weel wrought wi* pearls about the band ; 

Says, — " Gin ye will be my ain true love, 
This goodly gift ye sail command." 

She shaw'd me a cup o' the good red goud, 
Weel set wi' jewels sae fair to see ; 

Says, — " Gin ye will be my lemman sae true, 
This goodly gift I will you gie." 

"Awa', awa', ye ugly witch .' 

Haud far awa', and lat me be ; 
For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth 

For a' the gifts that ye cou'd gie." 

She's turned her richt and round about, 

And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn ; 

And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon , 
That she'd gar me rue the day 1 was born. 



Then out has she ta'en a silver wand, [round; 

And she's turned her three times round and 

She's mutter'd sic words, that my strength it 

fail'd, 

And I fell down senseless on the ground 






h5Q 

m 

M 



m 













She's turn'd me into an ugly worm, * 
And gar'd me toddle about the tree ; 

And ay, on ilka Saturday's night, 
My sister Maisry came to me, 

Wi* silver bason, and silver kemb, 
To kemb my headie upon her knee ; 

But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth, 
I'd rather ha'e toddled about the tree. 

But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en, 

When the Seely Court f was ridin' by, 

The queen lighted down on a gowan bank, 
Nae far frae the tree whare I wont to lye. 

She took me up in her milk-white hand, [knee ; 

And she straiked me three times o'er her 
She changed me again to my ain proper shape, 

And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree. 



m* sito si 



[This fragment was published by David Herd 
in the first edition of his collection, 1709. It was 
also given in Johnson's Museum, along with the 
old melody to which it is sung, from which work 
it was copied by Eitson, words and music. Bit- 
Son supposes the ballad to be a portion of an old 
poem of the time of Edward I. or H. in the 
Cotton MSS-, beginning, 

" Als y yod on ay Mounday." 
This poem will be found in Finlay's collection 
(Edinburgh, 1808, vol. ii.) with a commentary 
and glossary.] 

As I was walking all alane 

Between the water and the wa', 
There I spyed a wee wee man, 

And he was the least that e'er I saw. 



I .-^T t A nd he w 



* The term worm formerly signified, like ser- 
pent, "a reptile of any kind that made its way 
without legs." Here, it signifies a snake. Piers 
Plowman, using it in the same sense, lor a ser- 
pent, speaks of " Wyld rvormes in woodes," &c. 
ed. 1561. F. O. iii. 1. 

f Seely Court, i. e. " pleasant or happy court," 
or "court of the pleasant and happy people." 
This agrees with the ancient and more legitimate 
idea of Fairies. 



His legs were scarce a shathmont's length, i 
And thick and thimber was his thigh ; 

Between his brows there was a span, 

And between his shoulders there was three. § 

He took up a meikle stane, 

And he flans't as far as I could see ; 
Though I had been a Wallace wight, 

I coudna liften't to my knee. 

" O, wee wee man, but thou be Strang ! 

O tell me where thy dwelling be ?" 
" My dwelling's down by yon bonnie bower, 

O will you go with me and see ?" 

On we lap, and awa' we rade, 

Till we came to yon bonnie green ; 

We lighted down to bate our horse, 
And out there came a lady sheen. 

Four-and-twenty at her back, 

And they were a' clad out in green ; 

Though the king of Scotland had been there, 
The warsto' them might ha'e been his que: n. 

On we lap, and awa' we rade, 

Till we came to yon bonnie ha', 
Where the roof was o' the beaten gould, 
► And the floor was o' the crystal a'. || 

When we came to the stair foot, 

Ladits were dancing jimp and sma' ; 

But in the twinkling of an e'e, 

My wee wee man was clean awa'. *j[ 



$ Shathmont, in old Scottish, means the fi?t f 
closed, with the thumb extended, and may be 
considered a measure of about six inches. 

§ Variation in Motherwell's copy :— 

His leg was scarce a shathmont laug, 

Both thick and nimble was his knee ; \ 

Between his e'en there was a span, 

Betwixt his shoulders there were ells three. i 

|| Variation in Motherwell : — j 



*b Variation in Motherwell's copy : — 

There were pipers playing in every neuk, 
And ladies dancing jimp and sma', 

And aye the owerturn o' their tune 
Was, Our wee wee man has been lang awa'. 



IS* 



V2 



[In the collection in the Pepysean library, 
Cambridge, may be found a ditty with the fol- 
lowing title, " A Proptr New Ballad, entituled, 
The Wind hath blown my Plaid away, or A dis- 
course betwixt a Young Maid and the Elphin- 
Knight. To be sung with its own pleasant tune." 
It is just a different version of the following bal- 
lad, which is given in Mr Kinloch's collection, 
from the recitation of a native of Mearns-shire.] 

There stands a knicht at the tap o' yon hill,* 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
He has blawn his horn loud and shill, 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa. 

" If I had the horn that I hear blawn, 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
And the knicht that blavvs that horn," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 



* Elf is commonly used as synonymous with 
fairy, though it also signifies a spirit or fiend, 
possessing qualities of a more evil nature than 
the " Gude neebours." — The " Elfin Knicht " 
comes under the latter description, and in truth, 
may be viewed as the same person as the devil, 
who, in the annals of tradition, is a well known 
tempter of the fair sex. He was once known to 
have paid his addresses to a fair maiden near the 
hill of Benncchie, in Aberdeenshire, in the form 
and dress of a handsome young man ; and so far 
gained her affections as to get her consent to be- 
come his wife. It happened, however, on the 
day appointed for the nuptials, which were to Le 
cekbrated in a distant part of the country, where 
the devil said he resided, that she accidentally 
discovered his cloven feet, (of which distinguish- 
ing mark he has not the power to divest himself), 
and was horror-struck to find that her ardent 
lover was no other than the devil ! Knowing 
that her promise was binding, and believing the 
tradition that she would be freed from her en- 
gagement if the day wtre allowed to elapse before j 
he exacted her promise, she dissembled her ter- 
ror, and entered into conversation with him on 
various topics, particularly about their approach- 
ing nuptials, in order to pass over the day. But 
the devil was not so easily deceived; and per- 




She had na sooner thae words said,— 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
Than the elfin knicht cam' to her side,— 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

" Are na ye oure young a may,— 

Oure the hills and far awa* — 
Wi' onie young man doun to lie," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

" I have a sister younger than I, — 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
And she was married yesterday," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

" Married wi' me, ye sail ne'er be nane, — 
Oure the hills and far awa' — 

Till ye raak' to me a sark but \ a seam,"— 
The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun shape it, knife, sheerless, | 
Oure the hills and far awa' — 

And ye maun sew it, needle, threedless," ± 
The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 



emptorily insisted on her going with him. At 
last, every delay and excuse being exhausted, 
she, as a last resource, told him she would volun- 
tarily fulfil her promise, provided he would make 
a causey or road from the foot to the top of Ben- 
nochie, before she finished baking a quantity of 
bread, at which she was then engaged. The 
devil consented, and immediately commenced 
his labour ; while the maid went as quickly to 
work. But just as she was baking the last cake, 
the devil, who had concluded his task, appeared, 
and claimed her according to bargain. Being 
unwilling to comply, she resisted with all her 
might ; but he carried her off by force : and in 
passing Bennochie, the struggle between them 
became so great, that the devil, enraged at her 
obduracy, and in order to punish her falsehood, 
transformed her, with her girdle and spartle (the 
baking implements, which she had taken with 
her in the hurry) into three grey stones, which, 
with the road he formed upon the hill, are pointed 
cut to this day, to show the wonderful power of 
the devil, and the inevitable fate of those who 
have connection with the evil one ; — thus verify- 
ing the proverb, " They wha deal wi' the de'il will 
aye get a dear pennyworth." — Kinloch. 

f But— without. | ». e. Without 

knife, or scissors, needle, or thread. 







% 



" And ye maun wash it in yon cistran, — 

Oure the hills and far awa'- 
"VVhare water never stood nor ran," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa', 

" And ye maun dry it on yon hawthorn, — 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
"Whare the sun ne'er shon sin man was born," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

" Gin that courtesie I do for thee, — 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
Ye maun do this for me/' — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

" Ye'll get an acre o' gude red-land, * — 

Oure the hills and far awa', — 
A tween the saut sea and the sand,* — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

" I want that land for to be corn, — 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
And ye maun aer f- it wi' your horn," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun saw it without a seed, — 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
And ye maun harrow it wi' a threed," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

** And ye maun shear it wi' your knife, — 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
And na tyne a pickle o't for your life," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

"And ye maun moue % it in yon mouse-hole, — 

Oure the hills and far awa* — 
And ye maun thrash it in your shoe-sole," — 

The cauld wind's blawn n y plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun fan it wi' your luves, §— 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
And ye maun sack it in your gloves," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun bring it oure the sea, — 

Oure the hills and far awa' — 
Fair and clean, and dry to me," — 

The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa*. 



* Red land — tilled land. f Aer— till. 

i Moue— put it up in ricks. 
§ Fan it wi' your luves — winnow it with youi 
palms. 



And whan that your wark is weill deen, fj— 
Oure the hills and far awa' — 
Ye'se get your sark without a seam," — 
The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 



THE FAIRY KNIGHT. 

[Tins is another version of" The Elfin Knicht " 
taken from Mr Buchan's collection.] 

The Elfin knight stands on yon hill, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
Blawing his horn loud and shrill, 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" If I had yon horn in my kist, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
And the bonnie laddie here that I luve best," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" 1 ha'e a sister eleven years auld, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
And she to the young men's bed has made 
bauld," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa*. 

" And I mysell am only nine, 
Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 

And oh ! sae fain, luve, as 1 wou'd be thine, ,! — 
And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" Ye maun make me a fine Holland sark, 
Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 

Without ony stitching, or needle wark," — 
And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun wash it in yonder well, 
Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 

"Where the dew never wat, nor the rain ever 
fell,"— 
And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun dry it upon a thorn, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
That never budded sin Adam was born," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'." 



|| Weill deen — well done ; the pronunciation of 
the North. 



Mfe 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



465 



** Now sin' ye've ask'd some thing3 o' me, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
It's right I ask as mony o' thee," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa.' 

" My father he ask'd me an acre o' land, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
Between the saut sea and the strand," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun plow't wi' your blawing horn, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw! 
And ye maun saw't wi' pepper corn," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

"And ye maun harrow't wi' a single tyne, 
Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! [bane,'* — 

And ye maun shear't wi' a sheep's shank 
And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun big it in the sea, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
And bring the stathle dry to me," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun larn't in yon mouse hole, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
And ye maun thrash't in your shee sole," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun sack it in your gluve, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
And ye maun winno't in your leuve," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" And ye maun dry't without candle or coal, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
And grind it without quirn or mill," — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" Ye'U big a cart o' stane and lime, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
Gar Robin Redbreast trail it syne,' - — 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 

" When ye've dune and finish'd your wark, 

Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 
Ye'll come to me, luve, and get your sark,"- 

And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'." 



[Translated by Mr Jamieson from the Dan- 
ish, and published in his collection, Edinburgh, 
1806.J 

Sir Oluf the hend has ridden sae wide, 
All unto his bridal feast to bid. 



And lightly the elves, sae feat and free, 
They dance all under the greenwood tree > * 



And there danced four, and there danced five ; 
The Elf- King's daughter she reekit bilive. 



Her hand to Sir Oluf sae fair and free : 

" O welcome, Sir Oluf, come dance wi' me] 



" O welcome, Sir Oluf! now lat thy love gay, 
And tread wi' me in the dance sae gay." 



" To dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may ; 
The morn it is my bridal day." 



" O come, Sir Oluf, and dance wi' me ; 
Twa buckskin boots I'll give to thee ; 



" Twa buckskin boots, that sit sae fair, 
Wi' gilded spurs sae rich and rare. 



" And hear ye ; Sir Oluf! come dance wi' me ; 
And a silken sark I'll give to thee ; 



" A silken sark sae white and fine, 

That my mother bleached in the moonshine." 



* In the original this burden seems to have be- 
longed to seme elder ballad, which was sung to 
the same tune j but as it makes something like a 
connection between the first and second couplet, 
I have introduced it as characteristically as I 
could. The greater part of the ballads in the 
I " K. Yiser," as well as many of the traditionary 
\ Scottish ones, have burdens of this kind, which 
j have no relation to the sense of the stanzas to 
■ which they are annexed ; although they are such 
i as may be supposed to have continued the sense, 
i as well as the sound, in the pieces to which they 
K originally belonged.— Jamieson. 
V 2a 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



"I dareoa, I maunna come dance wi' thee ; 
For the morn my bridal day maun be." 



" O hear ye, Sir Oluf ! come dance wi' me, 
And a helmet o' goud I'll give to thee." 



" A helmet o' goud I well may ha'e ; 
But dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may." 



"And winna thou dance, Sir Oluf, wi' me ? 
Then sicknes3 and pain shall follow thee ! " 



She's smitten Sir Oluf— it strak to his heart ; 
He never before had kent sic a smart; 



Then lifted him up on his ambler red ; 
"And now, Sir Oluf, ride hame to thy bride." 



And whan he came till the castell yett, 
His mither she stood and leant thereat. 



" hear ye, Sir Oluf, my ain dear son, 
Whareto is your lire sae blae and wan ?" 



" O well may my lire be wan and blae, 
For I ha'e been in the elf-women's play.' 



" hear ye, Sir Oluf, my son, my pride, 
And what shall I say to thy young bride ?" 



" Ye'll say, that I've ridden but into the wood, 
To prieve gin my horse and hounds are good." 



Ear on the morn, whan night was gane, 
The bride she cam* wi' the bridal train. 



They skinked the mead, and they skinked the 
" O whareis Sir Oluf, bridegroom mine?" [wine: 



" Sir Oluf has ridden but into the wood, 

To prieve gin his horse and hounds are good." 



And she took up the scarlet red, 

And there lay Sir Oluf, and he was dead ! 



Ear on the morn, whan it was day, 

Three likes were ta'en frae the castle away ; 



Sir Oluf the leal, and his bride sae fair, 

And his mither, that died wi' sorrow and care. 



And lightly the fives sae feat and free, 
They dance all under the greenwood tree ! 



[This is another translation by Mr Jamieson 
from the Danish, and published in his collection, 
Edinburgh, 1806.] 

I laid my haffet on Elfer Hill ; 

Saft slooming clos'd my e'e ; 
And there twa selcouth * ladies came, 

Sae fain to speak to me. 

Ane clappit me then, wi' cheek sae white, 

Ane rown'd intill mine ear- 
"Rise up, fair youth, and join our dance ; 

Rise up, but doubt or fear ! 

" Wake up, fair youth, and join the dance, 

And we will tread the ring, 
While mair nor eardly melody 

My ladies for thee sing." 

Syne ane, the fairest may on mold, 

Sae sweet a sang began ; 
The hurling stream was still'd therewi', 

Sae fast afore that ran. 

The striving stream was still 'd therewi', 

Sae fast that wont to rin ; 
The sma' fish, in the flood that swam, 

Amo' their faes now blin.' 

The fishes a' in flood that were, 

Lay still, baith fin anl tail ; 
The sma' fowls in the shaw began 

To whitter f in the dale. 

"O hear, thou fair, thou young swain, 

And thou wi' us will dwell ; 
Then will we teach thee bo> k and rune, 

To read and write sae well. 

" I'll lear thee how the bear to bind, 

And fasten to the aik tree ; 
The dragon, that liiigs on mickle goud, 

Afore thee fast shall flee." 

* Selcouth, i. e. seld -couth, seldom known, 
strange, uncommon. — Jamieson. 

f To whitter, i. e. to warble in a lew voice, as 
singing birds always do at first, when they set 
about imitating any sweet music, which particu- 
&■ larly attracts their attention. — Jamieson. 






• 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



407 



They danced out, and they danced in, 

In the Elfer ring sae green ; 
All silent sat the fair young swain, 

And on his sword did lean. 

" Now hear, thou fair, thou young swain, 

But and thou till us speak, 
Then shall on sword and sharp knife 

Thy dearest heart-blood reek." 

Had God nae made my luck sae gude, 
That the cock did wap his wing, 

I boot ha'e bidden on Elfer Hill, 
In the Elf-ladies' ring. 

" I rede the Danish young swains, 

That to the court will ride, 
That they ne'er ride to Elfer Hill, 

Nor sleep upon its side." 



[Modkrn ballad, by David Tedder. — Sir 
Alan Mortimer was a potent chieftain, of Nor- 
man descent, whose lands lay in the vicinity of 
Aberdour in Fifeshire. Haughty and irascible, 
he lived at feud with many of the neighbouring 
Thanes, but more especially with the Abbot of a 
wealthy Augustine monastery, situate on the 
small island of Inch Colin, about a mile distant 
from his castle. In order to reconcile her father 
to the Church, Emma Mortimer entered into 
collusion with the venerable Abbot, and enabled 
him to perform a feat, which in those days passed 
for a miracle. So powerfully was the old baron 
impressed with the whole operation of restoring 
his daughter, that in the fulness of his heart, he 
gave the western part of the parish of Aberdour 
to the monastery on the island, for the privilege 
of being interred in the Church.] 

The morning's e'e saw mirth an' glee 

1* the hoary feudal tower 
O' bauld Sir Alan Mortimer, 

The lord o' Aberd.mr. 

But dool was there, an' mickle care, 
When the moon began to gleam ; 

For Elve an' Fay held holiday 
Beneath her siller beam. 



Sir Alan's peerless daughter was 

His darling frae infancie ; 
She bloomed in her bower a lily flower, 

Beneath the light o' his e'e ; 

She equalled Eve's majestic form, 

Saint Mary's matchless grace ; 
An' the heavenly hues o' paradise 

O'erspread her beauteous face. 

The diamond grew dim compared wi' her e'e, 
The gowd, compared wi' her hair, — 

Wi' the magic o' her bewitching smile 

There was naething on earth to cotnpare ; 

An' the dulcet music o' her voice 

Excelled the harmonie 
Wh'ch Elve an' Fay sae deftly play 

When halding high jubilee i 

The woodbine an' the jessamine 

Their tendrils had entwined ; 
A bower was formed, an' Emma aft 

At twilight there reclined. 

She thought of her knight in Palestine; 

And sometimes she would sigh, — 
For love was a guest in her spotless breast, 

In heavenly purity ! 

The setting sun had ceased t > gild 

rfaint Columb's haly towor, 
An' the vesper star began to glow, 

Ere Emma left her bower ; 

An' the fairy court had begun their sport 

Upon the daisied ka, 
While the gossamer strings o' their virginals 

Wi' fairy melodie. [rang 

That night the king had convoked his court 

Upon the enamelled green, 
To pick an' wale thro' his beauties a' 

For a blumin' fairy queen ; 

An' ere ever he wist, he spied a form 

That rivalled his beauties a' ; 
'Twa= Emma — Sir Alan Mortimer's pride — 

Coming hame to her father's ha'. 

Quick as the vivid lightning gleams 

Amidst a thunder storm, 
As rapidly the elve assumed 

Lord Bethune's manly form: • 



463 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



As flies the cushat to her mate, 

So, to meet his embrace she flew ; — 

Like a feathered shaft frae a yeoman '9 bow 
She vanished frae human view ! 

The abbey bell, on the sacred isle, 

Had told the vesper hour ; 
No footsteps are heard, no Emma appeared, 

Sir Alan rushed from his tower ; — 

The warders they ha'e left their posts. 

An' ta'en them to the bent; 
The porters they ha'e left the yetts — 

The sleuth-hounds are un the scent. 

The vassals a' ha'e left their cots, 

An' sought thro' the brake an' wold ; 

But the g(.od sleuth-hounds they a' lay down 
On the purple heath, an' yowled ! 

Sir Alan was aye the foremost man 

In dingle, brake and brier ; 
But when he heard his sleuth-hounds yowl, 

He tore his thin grey hair. 

An' aye he cheered his vassals on, 
Though his heart was like to break ; 

But when he saw his hounds lie down, 
Fu' mournfully thus he spake : 

" Unearthlie sounds affright my hounds, 

Unearthlie sights they see ; * 
They quiver an' shake on the heather brake 

Like the Laves o' the aspen tree. 

" My blude has almost ceased to flow, 

An- my soul is chilled wi' fear, 
Lest the elfin or the demon race 

Should ha'e stown my daughter dear. 

" Haste, haste, to the haly abbot wha dwells 
On Saint Culumb's sacred shores ; 

An' tell him a son o' haly kirk 
His ghostlie aid implores. 

"Let him buckle sic spiritual armour on 

As is proof against glatnourie; 
Lest the fiends o' hell ha'e -power to prevail 

Against baith him an' me." 

The rowers ha'e dashed across the stream 
An' knocked at the chapel door ; 

The abbot was chauntin' his midnight hymn, 
Sain. Coiuiub's shrine before ; 



His Saint-like mien, his radiant een, 

An' his tresses o' siller grey, 
Might ha'e driven to flight the demons o* night, 

But rood or rosarie ! 

The messenger dropt upon his knee, 

An' humbly this he said ; — 
" My master, a faithfu' son o' the kirk, 

Implores your ghostlie aid ; 

"An' ye 're bidden to put sic armour on 

As is proof against glamourie, 
Lest the fiends o' hell ha'e power to prevail 

Against baith him an' thee." 

The abbot leaped lightlie in the boat, 
An' pushed her frae the strand ; 

An' pan tin' for breath, 'tween life an' death, 
The vassals rowed to land ; 

He graspit the mournfu* Baron's hand— 
"Ha'e patience, my son," says he, 

" For I sail expel the fiends o' hell 
Frae your castle an' baronie." 

"Eestore my daughter," Sir Alan cries, 

" To her father's fond embrace, 
An' the half o' my gold, this very night, 

Saint Columb's shrine shall grace ; 

" Yes, if thou'lt restore my darling child, 
That's from me foully been riven, 

The half of my lands, ere morning's prime, 
To thine abbey shall be given." 

The abbot replied, with priestly pride, 
" Ha'e patience under your loss ; 

There never was fiend withstood me yet, 
When 1 brandished the haly cross 

" Forego your fear, and be of good cheer — 

1 hereby {.ledge my word 
That, by Marie's might, ere I sleep this night, 

Your daughter shall be restored." 

The abbot had made a pilgrimage, 

Barefoot to Palestine ; 
Had slept i' the haly sepulchre, 

An' visions he had seen; 

His girdle had been seven times laved 

In iSiloam's sacred stream, 
An' haly Saint Bride a rosarie hung 

Around his neck, in a dream! 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



4 GO 



A bead was strung on this rosarie ', 

That had cured ten men bewitched ; 

An' a relic o' the real cross 
His pastoral staff enriehed ; 

He carried a chalice in his hand, 

Brimfu' o' water clear, 
For his ain behoof, that had oozed frae the roof 

O' the haly sepulchre ! 

Me sprinkled bauld Sir Alan's lands 

Wi' draps o' this heaven lie dew ; 
An' the gruesome elves betook themselves 

To the distant Grampians blue : 

Anon he shook his rosarie, 

An' invoked Saint Marie's name, 
An' Emma's lute-like voice was heard 

Chauntin' our Lady's hymn ! 

But when he brandished the haly rood, 

An' raised it to the sky, — 
Like a beam of light she burst on their sight 

In vestal purity ! 



Jj)|5«£« 



IN THREE PARTS. 



Part First. 



uniform tradition bears, that his sirname was 
Lermont, or Learmont ; and that the appellation 
of The Rhymer was conferred on him in conse- 
quence of his poetical compositions. There re- 
mains, nevertheless, some doubt upon this sub- 
ject. In a charter, the son of our poet designed 
himself 'Thomas of Ercildoun, son and heir of 
Thomas Rymour of Ercildoun,' which seems to 
imply, that the father did not bear the hereditary 
name of Learmont ; or, at least, was better known 
and distinguished by the epithet, which he had 
acquired by his pergonal accomplishments. I 
must however remark, that, down to a very late 
period, the practice 01 distinguishing the parties, 
even in for.i al writings, by the epithets which 
had been bestowed on them from personal cir- 
cumstances, instead of the proper sirnames of 
their families, was common, and indeed neces- 
sary, among the border clans. So early as the 
end of the thirteenth century, when sirnames 
were hardly introduced in Scotland, this custom 
must have been universal. There is, therefore, 
nothing inconsistent in supposing our poet's name 
to have been actually Learmont, although, in 
this charter, he is distinguished by the popular 
appellation of The Rhymer. 

" We are better able to ascertain the period at 
which Tuomas of Ercildoun lived, being the latter 
end of the thirteenth century. I am inclined to 
place his death a little farther back than Mr Pin- 
kerton, who supposes that he was alive in 1300; 
jl {List of Scottish Poets ;) which is hardly, I think, 
|! consistent with the charter already quoted, by 



£From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. — 
** Few personages," says Sir Walter Scott, " are 
so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercel- 
doune, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. 
Uniting, or supposed to unite, in his person, the 
powers of poetical composition, and of vaticina- 
tion, his memory, even after the lapse of five 
hundred years, is regarded with veneration by 
his countrymen. To give any thing like a certain 
history of this remarkable man, would be indeed 
difficult ; but the curious may derive some satis- 
faction from the particulars here brought to- 
gether. 

" It is agreed on all hands, that the residence, 
and probably the birth-place, of this ancient 
bard, was Erceldoune, a village situated upon 
the Leader, two miles above its junction with 
the Tweed. The ruins of an ancient tower are 
still pointed out as the Rhymer's castle. The 



which his son, in 1299, for himself and his heirs, 
conveys to the convent of the Trinity of Soltre, 
the tenement which he possessed by inheritance 
ijierediiarie) in Ercildoun, with all claim which 
he, or his predecessors, could pretend thereto. 
From this we may infer, that the Rhymer was 
now dead, since we find his son disposing of the 
family property. Still, however, the argument 
of the learned historian will remain un impeached 
as to the time of the poet's birth. For if, as we 
learn from Barbour, his prophecies were held in 
reputation f as early as 130b", when Bruce slew 
the Red Cummin, the sanctity, and (let me add 
to Mr Pinkerton's words) the uncertaiuty of an- 
tiquity, must have already involved his character 



f The lines alluded to are thee :— 

Itaope that Thomas's prophecie, 
Of Ercelrlouu, shall truly be, 
In him, &c. 



470 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



and writings. In a charter of Peter de Haga de ■ 
Beinersyde, which unfortunately wants a date, 
the Rhymer, a near neighbour, and, if we may 
trust tradition, a friend of the family, appears as 
a witness. — Cartulary of Melrose. 

" It cannot be doubted, that Thomas of Ercil- 
doun was a remarkable and important person in 
his own time, since, very shortly after his death, 
we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a 
poet. Whether he himself made any pretensions 
to the first of these characters, or whether it was 
gratuitously conferred upon him by the credulity 
of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we 
may believe Mackenzie, Learmont only versified 
the prophecies delivered by Eliza, an inspired 
nun, of a convent at Haddington. But of this 
there seems not to be the most distant proof. 
On the contrary, all ancient authors, who quote 
;.he Rhymer's prophecies, uniformly suppose them 
„o have been emitted by himself. Thus, in Win- 
town's Chronicle — 

Of this fvcht quilum spak' Thomas 

Ui" Eisyiduuue, that sayd in derue, 

Thare suld nieit stalwartly, starke and sterne. 

He sayd it in his prophecy; 

But huw he wist it was ferly. 

Book viii. chap. 32. 

There could have been no ferly (marvel), in 
Win town's eyes at least, how Thomas came by 
his knowledge of future- events, had he ever 
heard of the inspired nun of Haddington, which, 
it cannot be doubted, would have been a solution 
of the mystery, much to the taste of the prior of 
Lochleven. * 

" Whatever doubts, however, the learned might 
have, as to the source of the Rhymer's prophetic 
skill, the vulgar had no hesitation to ascribe the 
whole to the intercourse between the bard and 
the queen of Faery. The popular tale bears, that 
Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the 
Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge, 



* Henry the Minstrel, who introduces Thomas into 
the history of "Wallace, expresses the same doubt as, to 
the source of his prophetic knowledge : — 

Thomas Rhymer into the faile was than 
With the minister, which was a worthy man. 
He used oft to that religious place; 
The people deemed of wit he meikle can, 
And so he told, though that they bless or ban, 
"Which happened sooth in many divers case ; 
I cannot say by wrong or righteousness. 
In rule of war whether they tint or wan : 
It may be deemed by division of grace, &c. 

History of Wallace, Book h. ' 



i& which made him afterwards so famous. After 
seven years residence, he was permitted to return 
to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his coun- 
trymen by his prophetic powers ; still, however, 
j remaining bound to return to his royal mistress, 
I when she should intimate her pleasure. Ac- 
; cordingly, while Thomas was making merry with 
I his friends in the tower of Ercildoun, a person 
came running in, and told, with marks of fear 
| and astonishment, that a hart and hind had left 
S the neighbouring forest, and were, composedly 
i and slowly, parading the street of the village, f 
; The prophet instantly arose, left his habitation, 
i and followed the wonderful animals to the forest, 
whence he was never seen to return. According 
I to the popular belief, he still ' drees his weird ' 
i in Fairy Land, and is one day expected to revisit 
earth. In the meanwhile, his memory is held in 
! the most profound respect. The Eildon Tree, 
1 from beneath the shade of which he delivered his 
1 prophecies, now no longer exists ; but the spot 
j is marked by a large stone, called Eildon Tree 
I Stone. A neighbouring rivulet takes the name 
I of the Bogle Burn (Goblin Brook) from the 
j Rhymer's supernatural visitants. The venera- 
| tion paid to his dwelling place, even attached 
I itself in some degree to a person, wh >, within 
| the memory of man, chose to set up his residence 
| in the ruins of Learmont's tower. The name of 
1 this man was Murray, a kind of herbalist ; who, 
' by dint of some knowledge in simples, the pos- 
j session of a musical clock, an electrical machine, 
j and a stuffed alligator, added to a supposed com- 
munication with Thomas the Rhymer, lived for 
, many years in very good credit as a wizard."] 

j True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ; 

A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e ; 

And there he saw a ladye bright, 

Come riding down by the Eildon TiCe. 

Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, 

Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; 
At ilka tett of her horse's mane, 

Hang fifty siller bells and nine. 

! True Thomas, he pull'd aff his cap. 
And louted low down to his knee, 
" All hail, thou mighty queen of heav'n ! 
For thy peer on earth I never did see." 



f There is a singular resemblance betwixt this tradi- 
tion, and an incident occurring in the life of Meiiiu 
Galedonius. 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



ill 



" O no, no, Thomas," she said ; 

" That name does not belang to me; 
I am but the queen of fair Elfland, 

That am hither come to visit thee. 

" Harp and carp, Thomas," she said; 

" Harp and carp along wi' me ; 
And if ye dare to kiss my lips, 

Sure of your bodie I will be." 

" Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

That weird * shall never danton me." 

Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, 
All underneath the Eildon Tree. 

"Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said ; 

" True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me; 
And ye maun serve me seven years, 

Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." 

She mounted on her milk-white steed ; 

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind : 
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung, 

The steed flew swifter than the wind. 

O they rade on, and farther on ; 

The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 
Until they reached a desart wide, 

And living land was left behind. 

"Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee : 

Abide and rest a little space, 

And I will show you ferlies three. 

" O see you not yon narrow road, 

So thick beset with thorns and briers ? 

That is the path of righteousness, 
Though after it but few enquires. 

" And see not ye that braid braid road, 
That lies across that lily leven ? 

That is the path of wickedness, 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 

" And see not ye that bonnie road, 
That winds about the fernie brae ? 

That is the road to fair Elfland, 

Where thou and I this night maun gae. 



* That weird, &c. — That destiny shall never 
frighten me. — Scott. 



" But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 

Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
For, if you speak word in Elflyn land, 

Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 

they rade on, and farther on, 

And they waded through rivers aboon the 
knee, 
And they saw neither sun nor moon, 
But they heard the roaring of the sea. 

It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae 
stern light, 
And they waded through red blude to the 
knee; 
For a* the blude, that's shed on earth, 

Bins through the springs o' that countrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden green, 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree-j- — 

"Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; 

It will give thee the tongue that can never 
I.e." 

" My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said ; 
" A gudely gift ye wad gi'e to me ! 

1 neither duught to buy nor sell, 

At fair or tryst where I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer, 
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." 

" Now hold thy peace !" the lady said, 
" For as I say, so must it be." 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And, till seven years were gane and past, 
True Thomas on earth was never seen. + 



+ The traditional commentary upon this bal- 
lad informs us, that the apple was the produce 
of the fatal Tree of Knowledge, and that the 
garden was the terrestrial paradise. The repug- 
nance of Thomas to be debarred the use of false- 
hood, when he might find it convenient, has a 
comic effect. — Scott. 

% The above ballad is given in the Border Min- 
strelsy from a copy obtained from a lady, residing 
not far from Ercildoun, corrected and enlarged 
by one in Mrs Brown's MSS. In Mr Jamieson's 
collection of Popular Ballads and Sonjrs, the ori- 
ginal old romance upon which this ballad is 
'founded is given from a MS. said to be of the 



472 



SCOTTISH BALLADS 



c _ 






-'. 



ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES. 

[" The prophecies, ascribed to Thomas of Er- 
cildoune, have been the principal means of 
securing to him remembrance ' amongst the sons 
of his people.' The author of ' Sir Tristrem ' 
would long ago have joined, in the vale of obli- 
vion, ' Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the adventure 
of Schir Gawain,' if, by good hap, the same cur- 
rent of ideas respecting antiquity, which causes 
Virgil to be regarded as a magician by the Laza- 
roni of Naples, had not exalted the bard of Er- 
cildoune to the prophetic character. Perhaps, 
indeed, he himself affected it during his life. We 
know at least, for certain, that a belief in his 
supernatural knowledge was current soon after 
his death. His prophecies are alluded to by 
Barbour, by Wintoun, and by Henry the Min- 
strel, or Blind Harry, as he is usually termed. 
None of these authors, however, give the words 
of any of the Rhymer's vaticinations, but merely 
narrate, historically, his having predicted the 
events of which they speak. 

" Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous his- 
torian, seems to have been a firm believer in the 
authenticity of the prophetic wares, vended in 
the name of Thomas of Ercildoun. ' The pro- 
phecies, yet extant in Scottish rhymes, where- 
upon he was commonly called Thomas the 
Rhymer, may justly be admired ; having foretold, 
so many ages before, the union of England and 



fifteenth century, in the public library at Cam- 
bridge, collated with a MS. in the library of the 
cathedral of Lincoln, and another MS. in the 
Cotton Library. Sir Walter, in an appendix to 
the present ballad, also quotes a portion of the 
original romance. " The same incidents are 
narrated," he says, "even the expression is often 
the same ; yet the poems are as different in ap- 
pearance, as if the older tale had been regularly 
and systematically modernized by a poet of the 
present day." — The copy, as given by Mr Jamie- 
son, is divided into three " Fyttes," or cantos, 
the second and third being devoted mainly to 
"prophecies." The length of the production, 
and its antiquated diction, not to speak of other 
objections which certain details in the narrative 
might call forth, make us refrain from quoting it ^ 






ife Scotland in the ninth degree of the Bruce's blood, 
with the succession of Bruce himself to the crown, 
being yet a child, and other divers particulars, 
which the event hath ratified and made good. 
Boethius, in his story, relateth his prediction of 
King Alexander's death, and that he did foretel 
the same to the earl of March, the day before it 
fell out; saying, That before the next day at 
noon, such a tempest should blow, as Scotland 
had not felt for many years before. The next 
morning, the day being clear, and no change 
appearing in the air, the nobleman did challenge 
Thomas of his saying, calling him an impostor. 
He replied, that noon was not yet passed. About 
which time, a post came to advertise the earl of 
the king his sudden death. Then, said Thomas, 
this is the tempest I foretold; and so it shall 
prove to Scotland. Whence, or how, he had this 
knowledge, can hardly be affirmed ; but sure it 
is, that he did divine and answer truly of many 
things to come.' — Spottiswoode, p. 47. Besides 
that notable voucher, master Hector Boece, the 
good archbishop might, had he been so minded, 
have referred to Fordun for the prophecy of King 
Alexander's death. That historian calls our 
bard ' ruralis Me vates.' — Fordun, lib. x. cap. 40. 
" What Spottiswoode calls 'the prophecies ex- 
tant in Scottish rhyme,' are the metrical produc- 
tions ascribed to the prophet of Ercildoun, which, 
with many other compositions of the same na- 
ture, bearing the names of Bede, Merlin, Gildas, 
and other approved soothsayers, are contained in 
one small volume, published by Andro Hart, at 
Edinburgh, 1615. Nisbet the herald (who claims 
the prophet of Ercildoune as a brother- professor 
of his art, founding upon the various allege rical 
and emblematical allusions to heraldry) intimates 
the existence of some earlier copy of his prophe- 
cies than that of Andro Hart, which, however, 
he does not pretend to have seen. The late ex- 
cellent lord Hailes made these compositions the 
subject of a dissertation, published in his ' Re- 
marks on the History of Scotland.* His atten- 
tion is chiefly directed to the celebrated prophecy 
of our bard, mentioned by bishop Spottiswoode, 
bearing, that the crowns of England and Scot- 
land should be united in the person of a king, son 
of a French queen, and related to Bruce in the 
ninth degree. Lord Hailes plainly proves, that 
this prophecy is perverted from its original pur- 
pose, in order to apply it to the succession of 
James VI. The ground -work of the forgery is to 
be found in the prophecies of lierlington, con- 
tained in the same collection, and runs thus: — 






- 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



473 



~m 



Of Bruce's left side shall spring out a lcafe, < 

As neere as the ninth degree; 

And shall be fleemed of faire Scotland, 

In France farre beyond the sea. 

And then shall coine againe ryding, 

With eves that many men may see. 

At Abeiladie he shall light. 

With hempen helteres and horse of tre. 

However it happen for to fall, 

The lyon shall be lord of all; 

The French queu shall bearre the sonne, 

Shal rule all Britainne to the sea; 

Aue from the Bruce's blood shal come also, 

As neere as the ninth degree. 

Yet shal there come a keene knight over the salt sea, 
A keene man of courage and bold man of armes ; 
A duke's son dowbled^i. e. dubbed,) a borne man in 

That shall our mirths augment, and mend all our 

harmes 
After the date of our Lord, 1513, and thrice three 

thereafter ; 
Which shall brooke all the broad isle to himself, 
Between 13 and thrice three the threip shal be ended, 
The Saxons shall never recover after. 

"There cannot be any doubt that this pro- 
phecy was intended to excite the confidence of 
the Scottish nation in the duke of Albany, regent 
of Scotland, who arrived from France in 1515, 
two years after the death of James IY. in the 
fatal field of Flodden. The regent was descended 
of Bruce by the left, i. e. by the female side, 
within the ninth degree. His mother was 
daughter of the earl of Boulogne, his father ban- 
ished from his country — ' fleemit of fair Scotland.' 
His arrival must necessarily be by sea, and his 
landing was expected at Aberlady, in the Frith 
of Forth. He was a duke's son, dubbed knight ; 
and nine years, from 1513, are allowed him, by 
the pretended prophet, for the accomplishment 
of the salvation of his country, and the exaltation 
of Scotland over her sister and rival. All this 
was a pious fraud, to excite the confidence and 
spirit of the country. 

" The prophecy, put in the name of our 
Thomas the Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's book, 
refers to a later period. The narrator meets the 
Rhymer upon a land beside a lee, who shows 
him many emblematical visions, described in no 
mean strain of poetry. They chiefly relate to 
the fields of Flodden and Pinkie, to the national 
distress which followed these defeats, and to 
future halcyon days, which are promised to Scot- 
land. One quotation or two will be sufficient to 
establish this fully :— 



A feddered arrow sharp, I weene, 
Shall make him winke and warre to see. 
Out of the field he shall be led, 
When he is bludie and woe for blood; 
Yet to his men shall he say, 
1 For God's luve, turn you againe, 
i ~;.- e y OU su therne folk a frcy ! 






Why should I lose the right is mine ? 
My date is not to die thi5 day.' 

"Who can doubt, for a moment, that this re- 
fers to the battle of Flodden, and to the popular 
reports concerning the doubtful fate of James 
IY. ? Allusion is immediately afterwards made 
to the death of George Douglas, heir apparent of 
Angus, who fought and fell with his sovereign : 



"The well-known arms of the Douglas family 
are the heart and three stars. In another place, 
the battle of Pinkie is expressly mentioned by 

At Pinken Cluch there shall be spilt 
Much gentle blood that day ; 
There shall the bear lose the guilt, 
And the esgill bear it away. 

" To the end of all this allegorical and mystical 
rhapsody, is interpolated, in the later edition by 
Andro Hart, a new edition of Berlington's verses, 
before quoted, altered and manufactured so as 
to bear reference to the accession of James YI., 
which had just then taken place. The insertion 
is made with a peculiar degree of awkwardness, 
betwixt a question, put by the narrator, con- 
cerning the name and abode of the person who 
showed him these strange matters, and the 
answer of the prophet to that question : 

' Then to the Beirne could I say, 
Where dwells thou, or in what countiie ? 
[Or who shall rule the isle of Britane, 
From the north to the south sey ? 
A French queene shall beare tiie sonne, 
Shall rule all Britaine to the sea ; 
Which of the Bruce's blood shall come, 
As neere as the nint degree : 
Lfrained fast what was his name, 
Where that he came, from what country.] 
In Erslingtouu I dwell at hame, 
Thomas Bymour men cals me.' 

" There is surely no one, who will not conclude, 
with lord Hailes, that the eight lines, inclosed in 
brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, borrowed 
from Berlington, with such alterations as might 
render the supposed prophecy applicable to the 
union of the crowns. 









471 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" While we are on this subject, it may be pro- { 
per briefly to notice the scope of some of the 
other predictions, in Hart's Collection. As the 
prophecy of Berlington was intended to raise the 
spirits of the nation, during the regency of Al- 
bany, so those of Sybilla and Eltraine refer to 
that of the earl of Arran, afterwards duke of 
Chatelherault, during the minority of Mary, a 
period of similar calamity. This is obvious from 
the following verses : — 

Take a thousand in calculation, 
And the longest of the lyon, 
Four crescents under one crowne, 
With Saint Andrew's croce thrise, 
Then threescore and thrise three : 
Take tent to Merlin g truely, 
Then shall the waires ended be, 
And never againe rise. 

In that yere there shall a king, 
A duke, and no crowned king; 
Becaus the prince shall be yong, 
And tender of yeares. 

" The date, above hinted at, seems to be 1549, 
when the Scottish regent, by means of some suc- 
cours derived from France, was endeavouring to 
repair the consequences of the fatal battle of 
Pinkie. Allusion is made to the supply given to 
the " Moldwarte (England) by the fained hart," 
(the earl of Angus.) The regent is described by 
his bearing the antelope ; large supplies are pro- 
mised from Prance, and complete conquest pre- 
dicted to Scotland and her allies. Thus was the 
same hackneyed stratagem repeated, whenever 
the interest of the rulers appeared to stand in 
need of it. The regent was not, indeed, till after 
this period, created duke of Chatelherault ; but 
that honour was the object of his hopes and ex- 
pectations. 

" The style of all the prophecies, published by 
Hart, is very much the same. The measure is 
alliterative, and somewhat similar to that of 
'Pierce Plowman's Visions;' a circumstance 
which might entitle us to ascribe to some of them 
an earlier date than the reign of James V., did 
we not know that 'Sir Gallorau of Galloway,' 
and * G-awaine and G-ologras,' two romances ren- 
dered almost unintelligible by the extremity of 
affected alliteration, are perhaps not prior to that 
period. Indeed, although we may allow, that, 
during much earlier times, prophecies, under the 
names of those celebrated soothsayers, have been 
current in Scotland, yet those published by Hart 
have obviously been so often vamped and re- 
vamped, to serve the political purposes of differ- 
ent periods, that it may be shrewdly suspected, 



that, as in the case of Sir John Cutler's transmi- 
grated stockings, very little of the original mate- 
rials now remains. 

" If there still remain, therefore, among these 
predictions, any verses having a claim to real 
antiquity, it seems now impossible to discover 
them from those which are comparatively modern. 
Nevertheless, as there are to be found, in these 
compositions, some uncommonly wild and mas- 
culine expressions, the editor has b^en induced to 
throw a few passages together, into the sort of 
ballad to which this disquisition is prefixed. It 
would, indeed, have been no difficult matter for 
him, by a judicious selection, to have excited, in 
favour of Thomas of Erceldoune, a share of the 
admiration, bestowed by sundry wise persons 
upon Mass Robert Fleming. For example • — 

' But then the lilye shall be loused when they least 

think; 
Then clear king's blood shal quake for fear of death ; 
Fur churls shal chop off heads of their chief beirns, 
And carie of the crowns that Christ hath appointed. 

Thereafter, on every side, sorrow shal arise; 
The barges of clear barons down shal be sunken ; 
Seculars shall sit in spiritual seats, 
Occupying offices anointed as they were.' 

" Taking the lilye for the emblem of France, 
can there be a more plain prophecy of the mur- 
der of her monarch, the destruction of her nobi- 
lity, and the desolation of her hierarchy ? But, 
without looking farther into the signs of the 
times, the editor, though the least of all the pro- 
phets, cannot help thinking, that every true 
Briton will approve of his application of the last 
prophecy quoted in the ballad. 

" Hart's collection of prophecies was frequently 
reprinted during the last century, probably to 
favour the pretensions of the unfortunate family 
of Stuart. 

" Before leaving the subject of Thomas s predic- 
tions, it may be noticed, that sundry rhymes, 
passing for his prophetic effusions, are still cur- 
rent among the vulgar. Thus, he is said to have 
prophesied of the very ancient family of Haig of 
Bemerside, 



The grandfather of the present [1812] proprie- 
tor of Bemerside had twelve daughters, before 
his lady brought him a male heir. The common 
people trembled for the credit of their favourite 
vtp soothsayer. The late Mr Haig was at length 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



4.15 



born, and their belief in the prophecy confirmed 
beyond a shadow of doubt. 

" Another memorable prophecy bore, that 
the Old Kirk at Kelso, constructed out of the 
ruins of the abbey, should 'fail when at the 
fullest.' At a very crowded sermon, about thirty 
years ago, a piece of lime fell from the roof of the 
church. The alarm, for the fulfilment of the 
words of the seer, became universal ; and happy 
were they, who were nearest the door of the pre- 
destined edifice. The church was in consequence 
deserted, and has never since had an opportunity 
of tumbling upon a full congregation. I hope, 
for the sake of a beautiful specimen of Saxo- 
Gothie architecture, that the accomplishment of 
this prophecy is far distant. 

"Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, 
seems to have been founded on that sort of 
insight into futurity, possessed by most men of a 
sound and co.i.biniug judgment. It runs thus : 

A: L::j_- Tree if j a shall be, 

A brigg ower Tweed you there may see. 

" The spot in question commands an extensive 
prospect of the course of the river; and it was 
easy t:> foresee, that when the country should 
become in the least degree improved, a bridge 
would be somewhere thrown over the stream. 
In fact, you now see no less than three bridges 
from that elevated situation. 

" Corspatrick (Comes Patrick, ) Earl of March, 
but more commonly taking his title from his 
castle of Dunbar, acted a noted part during the 
wars of Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of 
Erceldoune is said to have delivered to him his 
famous prophecy of King Alexander's death, the 
editor has chosen to introduce him into the fbl- 
1 wing ballad. All the prophetic verses are 
selected from Harr's publication."— Minstrftey of 
the Scottish Border.] 

Whkn seven years were come and gane, 
The sun blinked fair on pool and stream ; 

And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank, 
Like one awakened from a dream. 

He heard the trampling of a steed, 

He saw the flash of armour flee, 
And he beheld a gallant knight 

Come riding down by the Eildon-tree. 

He was a stalwart knight, and strong ; 

Of giant make he 'peared to be : 
He stirr'd his horse, as he were wr.de, 

Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free. 



Says — " Well met, w-li met, true Thomas ! 

Some uncouth ferlies show to 
Says — " Chr;st thee save, Corspatrick brave ! 

Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me ! 

"Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave, 
And I will show thee curses three, 

Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane, 
And change the green to the black livery. 

" A storm shall roar this very hour, 
From Rosse's Hills to Solway sea." 

" Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar ! 

For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea." 

He put his hand on the earlie's head ; 

He showed him a rock, beside the sea, 
Where a king lay stiff, beneath his steed, * 

And steel-dight nobles wiped their e'e. 

(: The neist curse lights on Branxton hills: 
By Floaden's high and heathery side, 

Shall wave a banner red as blude, 

And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride. 

" A Scottish king shall come full keen ; 

The ruddy lion beareth he : 
A f^ather'd arrow sharp, I ween, 

Shall make him wink and warre to see. 

" When he is bloody, and all to bledde, 
Thus to his men he still shall say — 

' For God's sake, turn ye back again, 
And give yon southern folk a fray ! 

Why sh raid I lose the right is mine ? 
My doom is not to die this day.' f 

" Yet turn ye to the eastern hand, 
And woe and wonder ye sail see ; 

How forty thousand spearmen stand, 
Where yon rank river meets the sea. 

' ' There shall the lion lose the gylte, 
And the libbards bear it clean away ; 

At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt 
Much gentil blude that day." 



I * King Alexander, k lied by a fall from his 
; horse, near Kinghorn. — Scj'.t. 
I f The uncertainty which long prevailed in 
Scotland, concerning the futo of James IV., s 
J well known. — Scett. 



476 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






** Enough, enough, of curse and ban ; 

Some blessings show thou now to me, 
Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Corspatrick said, 

" Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me I" 

" The first of blessings I shall thee show, 
Is by a burn, that's eall'd of bread , * 

Where Sason men shall tine the bow, 
And find their arrows lack the head. 

" Beside that brigg, out ower that burn, 

Where the water bickereth bright and sheen. 

Shall many a falling courser spurn, 
And knights shall die in battle keen. 

" Beside a headless cross of stone, 

The libbards there shall lose the gree ; 

The raven shall come, the erne shall go, 
And drink the Saxon blude sae free. 

The cross of stone they shall not know, 
So thick the corses there shall be." 

V But tell me now," said brave Dunbar, 
" True Thomas, tell now unto me, 

What man shall rule the isle Britain, 

Even from the north to the southern sea ?" 

" A French queen shall bear the son,, 

Shall rule all Britain to the sea ; 
He of the Bruce's blude shall come, 

As near as in the ninth degree. 

'* The waters worship shall his race ; 

Likewise the waves of the farthest sea ; 
For they shall ride ower ocean wide, 

With hempen bridles, and horse of tree." 



Part Third. 
Modern.— By Sir Walter Scott. 



[This the author calls an attempt to com- 
memorate the Rhymer's poetical fame, and the 



* One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradi- 
tion, runs thus : — 



m 



Bannock-burn is the brook here meant. The 
Scots give the name of bannock to a thick round 
e<ike of unleavened bread.— Scott. 



traditional account of his marvellous return to 
Fairy Land.] 

When seven years more were come and gone 
Was war through Scotland spread, 

And Ruberslaw show'd high Dunyonf 
His beacon blazing red. 

Then all by bonnie Coldingknow, $ 
Pitched palliouns took their room, 

And crested helms, and spears a rowe, 
Glanced gaily through the broom. 

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, 

Resounds the ensenzie ; § 
They roused the deer from Caddenhead, 

To distant Torwoodlee. || 

The feast was spread in Ercildoune, 
In Learmont's high and ancient hall ; 

And there were knights of great renown, 
And ladies, laced in pall. 

Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine, 

The music, nor the tale, 
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine, 

Nor mantling quaighs ^ of ale. 

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand, 

When as the feast was done ; 
(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land, 

The elfin harp he won.) 

Hush'd were the throng, both limb and tongue, 

And harpers for envy pale ; 
And armed lords lean'd on their swords, 

And hearken 'd to the tale. 






f Ruberslaw and Dunyon are two hills above 
Jedburgh.— Scott. 

$ An ancient tower near Ercildoune, belong- 
ing to a family of the name of Home. One of 
Thomas's prophecies is said to have run thus : — 



Ve ( 






The spot is rendered classical by its having 
given name to the beautiful melody, called the 
" Broom o' the Cowdenknows." — Scott. 

§ Ensenzie — War-cry, or gathering word. 

[J Torwoodlee and Caddenhead are places in 
Selkirkshire.— Sc»tt. 

% Quaighs— Wooden cups, composed of staves 
^ hooped together. 



FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. 



477 



In numbers high, the witching tale 

The prophet pour'd along ; 
No after bard might e'er avail 

Those numbers to prolong. 

Yet fragments of the lofty strain 
Float down the tide of years, 

As buoyant on the stormy main, 
A parted wreck appears. 

He sung King Arthur's Table Round : 

The Warrior of the Lake ; 
How courteous Gawaine met the wound. 

And bled for ladies' sake. * 

But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise, f 

The notes melodious swell ; 
Was none excell'd, in Arthur's days, 

The knight of Lionelle. 

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right, 

A venomed wound he bore; 
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight, 

Upon the Irish shore. 

No art the poison might withstand ; 

No medicine could be found, 
Till lovely Isolde's lily hand 

Had probed the rankling wound. 

With gentle hand and soothing tongue 

She bore the leech's part ; ■ 
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung, 

He paid her with his heart. 

O fatal was the gift, I ween ! 

For, doom'd in evil tide, 
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen, 

His cowardly uncle's bride. 



* See, in the Fabliaux of Monsieur le Grand, 
elegantly translated by the late Gregory Way, 
Esq. the tale of the " Knight and the Sword." — 
Scott. 

f Thomas the Rhymer is the- reputed author of 
the celebrated romance of " Sir Tristrem," the 
earliest specimen of Scottish poetry extant, an 
edition of which was published by Sir Walter 
Scott, in 180 1, from a MS. copy in the Advocates' 
Library, Edinburgh, with a copious historical 
and critical Introduction, and also a very happy- 
imitative continuation of the romance, by the 
editor. 



& Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard 
In fairy tissue wove ; 
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright, 
In gay confusion strove. 

The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale, 
High rear'd its glittering head ; 

And Avalon's enchanted vale 
In all its wonders spread. 

Brangwain was there, and Segramore, 
And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye ; 

Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, 
O who could sing but he ? 

Through many a maze the winning song 

In changeful passion led, 
Till bent at length the listening throng 

O'er Tristrem's dying bed. 

His ancient wounds their scars expand, 
With agony his heart is wrung : 

O where is Isolde's lilye hand, 

And where her soothing tongue ? 

She comes ! she comes ! — like flash of flame 

Can lovers' footsteps fly : 
She comes I she comes ! — she only came 

To see her Tristrem die. 

She saw him die ; her latest sigh 
Joined in a kiss his parting breath : 

The gentlest pair that Britain bare, 
United are in death. 

There paused the harp : its lingering sound 

Died slowly on the ear ; 
The silent guests still bent around, 

For still they seem'd to hear. 

Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak ; 

Nor ladies heav'd alone the sigh ; 
But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek 

Did many a gauntlet dry. 

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower. 

The mists of evening close ; 
In camp, in castle, or in bower, 

Each warrior sought repose. 

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent, 

Dream d o'er the woeful tale ; 
When footsteps light, across the bent, 

The warrior's ears assail . 



473 



SCOTTISH BALLADS." 



He starts, he wakes ;— " What, Richard, ho ! 

Arise, my page, arise ! 
What venturous wight, at dead of night, 

Dare step where Douglas lies !" 

Then forth they rush'd : by Leader's tide, 

A selcouth * sight they see — 
A hart and hind pace side by s'de, 

As white as snow on Fairnalie. f 

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud, 

They stately move and slow; 
Nor scare they at the gathering crowd, 

Who marvel as they go. 

To Learmont's tower a message sped, 

As fast as page might run ; 
And Thomas started from his bed, 

And soon his deaths did on. 

First he woxe pale, and then woxe red ; 

Never a word he spake but three; 
" My sand is run ; rry thread is spun ; 

Tnis sign regardeth me." 

The elfin harp his neck around, 

In minstrel guise, he hun.j ; 
And on the wind, iu doleful sound, 

Its dying accents rung. 

Then forth he went ; yet turned him oft 

To view his ancient hall ; 
On the grey tower, in lustre soft, 

The autumn moon-beams fall. 

And Leader's waves like silver sheen, 
Danced shimmering in the ray ; 

In deepening mass, at distance seen, 
Broad Soltra's mountains lay. 

" Farewell, my father's ancient tower ! 

A long farewell," said he : 
"The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power, 

Thou never more shalt be. 



* Selcouth — Wondrous. 
(■ An, ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirk- 
shire. In a popular edition of the first part of 
Thomas the Rhymer, the Fairy Queen thus ad- 
dresses him : — 




" To Learmont's name no foot of earth 

Shall here again belong, 
And, on thy hospitable hearth, 

The hare shall leave her young. 

"Adieu ! adieu !" again he cried, 

All as he turned him roun' — 
" Farewell to Leader's silver tide ! 

Farewell to E;eildoune !" 

The hart and hind approach'd the place, 

As lingering yet he stood ; 
And there, before Lord Douglas' face, 

With them be eross'd the flood. 

Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-brown steed, 
And spurr'd him the Leader o'er ; 

But, though he rode with lightning speed, 
He never saw them more. 

Some sayd to hill, and some to glen , 
Their wondrous course had been ; 

But ne'er in haunts of living men 
Again was Thomas seen. 



If trtl 5fc- 



[Modern Ballad. — James Hogg.J 

LvTTri. Pynkie caime to Kilbogye yett, 

It wals on ane hallow-day; 
And the ladye babyis with her mette, 

To heirre quhat sho wolde say. 

For Pynkie Avals the lyttilest bairne, 
That evtr dancit on the greinne ; 

And Pynkie wals the bonnyest thynge 
That evir on virtue wals seinne. 

Hir faice wals caste in beautye's molde, 

And owre hir browe abone 
Hir hayre wals lyke the streemys of golde 

That tinssillis from the mono. 

The smyle that playit upon hir faice 

Wals comely to be scene, 
And the bonnye blue that dyit the hevin 

Wals nevir lyke Pynkie's eeyne. 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



4T0 



Thre spannis from heele to heidde sho stode, 3 

But all so meitte to se, 
No mayden in hir myldest mode 

Ane lovelier forme colde bee. 

Quhaevir lokit at hir ane spaice, 

Colde nevir calle to mynde 
That she possessit not fraime and graice 

Of stateliest womankynde. 

The Baron ne caime forth to the greene, 

And hee toke hir be the hande : 
" Lyttil Pynkie, you are welcome heirre, 

The flower of fayre Scotlande. 

" You are welcome to myne bowris, Pynkie, 

And to myne hallis so gaye, 
And you shalle be myne lammie deirre, 

And I'll fondle you nychte and daye." 

" Och, no ! och, no ! myne owne gede lorde, 

For that wolde bee ane synne ; 
For if you toye or melle with me, 

To hevin you : ll nevir Wynne." 

"But I will taike myne chaunce, Pynkie, 

For lofe is sore to thole ; 
The joie of maydenis leifu' charmis 

Can nevir stayne the soule." 

" Better to thole than wynne the goale, 

Quhare pryze is nonne before; 
The man quha wynnis myne lofe and mee, 

Will nevir knowe mayden more. 

" But I will syng ane sang to you, 
And daunce ane fairye quheille, 

Till you and all youre bonnie may bairnis 
Can daunce it wonder weille." 

Were I to telle Lyttil Pynkie's sang, 

It mighte doo muckle ill ; 
For it wals not framit of yirthly wordis, 

Though it soundit sweitte and shrill. 

But aye the owerworde of the sang, 

Which ladyis lernit to syng, 
Wals, " Rounde and rounde, and sevin tymis 

The elfynis fairye ryng !" [rounde, 



The firste moove that Lyttil Pynkie maide, 
Wals gentil, softe, and sweitte; 

But the second* rounde Lyttil Pynkie maide : 
Theye colde not kenne hir feitte. 



The thrydde rounde that Lyttil Pynkie 
maide, 

Sho shymmerit als lycht and gaye 
Als dauncyng of the wiry lychtis 

On warme and sonnye daye. 

And aye sho sang, with twyrle and span?, 

A rounde them on the playne, 
Quhille hir feitte theye shymmerit abone 
theyre hedis, 

Then kyssit the swairde agayne. 

Then the Baron ne hee begoude to bobbe, 

No longer colde hee stande, 
And his lyttil maydenis in ane ryng 

Theye joynit him hande to hande. 

And rounde and rounde, and faster rounde, 

The fairye ryng theye flewe ; 
And aye the langer that theye daunsit, 

The madder on fonne theye grewe. 

And Lyttil Pynkie in the middis 

Bobbyt lyke ane flee in Maye, 
And everilk spryng Lyttil Pynkie gaif, 

The Baronne he cryit, " Hurraye !" 

And rounde and rounde the fairye ryng 

They lyltit and they sang, 
And rounde and rounde the fairye ryng 

They caiperit and they flang ; 

Quhille the Baronne hee begoude to gaspe, 
And his eeyne sette in his heidde; 

Hee colde not dragg ane oder lymbe, 
So neirlye he wals deidde, 

And downe he felle upon the playne, 
Prone lyke ane forme of leidde. 

But aye quhan Pynkie made ane spryng 

Betweinne him and the daye, 
Hee maide a paulle with handis and feitte, 

And gaif ane fay nte " Hurraye i" 

Hee streikit out his lymbis in dethe, 

Unpytied and unbleste ; 
But " Hurraye !" it wals the ae last sounde 

That gurglit in his breste. 

The maydis theye daunsit and caiperit on 

In madnesse and in blaime ; 
For lofe or stryffe, or dethe or lyflfe, 

To them wals all the saime. 



480 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



But rounde and rounde the ryng theye flewe, ^ And rounde and rounde the deidde Baronne 
swyfte als sevin burdis on wyng ; They flapperit and they flewe ; 

Regairdyng the deidde man no more \ And rounde and rounde the deidde Baronne 

Than any yirthly thyng. They bumpy t and tbeye blewe. 



The menialis gadderit rounde and sawe 

In terrour and dismaye, 
Them dauncying rounde theyre deidde fader, 

And Pynkie wals awaye. 

" Och-on, och-on," the Chaiplyng cryit, 
" There's some enchauntmente heirre ; 

Haiste, haiste awaye, myne maydinis gaye, 
This shaimefulle course forbeirre." 

The maidinis lefte the fairye ryng, 
And ceissit theyre lychtsome fonne, 

But they colde not comprehende one thyng 
Of all that had beinne donne. 

The Chaiplyng ranne into the ryng 

To lifte his maisteris heidde, 
And callit on six young bordlye wychtis, 

To beirre awaye the deidde ; 

Quhan Lyttil Pynkie in the myddis 

Stode lofelye als the sonne ; 
Sho sang ane staife, and dauncit it rounde, 

And all theyre grieffe wals donne. 

The Chaiplyng hee begoude to bobbe, 

And wagg his heede amayne, 
For the lyttil kymmeris lythlye lymbis 

Had veirlye turnit his brayne. 

And rounde, and rounde, the deidde Baronne, 
With caiper and with squealle, 

The Chaiplyng and his six young menne 
Wente lyke ane spynnyng quheilie. 

And ay they sang Lyttil Pynkie's sang, 
Als loudde als they colde braye ; 

But saife the burden of that sang, 
The wordis 1 daurna saye. 

But ay quhan Pynkie made ane ryse, 

With fitfulle fairye flyng ; 
" Agayne, agayne !" the Chaiplyng cryit, 

" Weille profen, myne bonnye thyng ! 

" Agayne, agayne ! Agayne, agayne I" 
In maddenyng screimme cryit hee, 

'* Och, let mee se that spryng agayne, 
That I of lofe maye de i" 



Quhill the Chaiplyng hee begoude to gaspe 

And quhizle in the throtte, 
And downe hee felle upon the greinne 

Ljke ane greate mardel stotte. 

He streikit out his laithlye lymbis, 

His eeyne sette in his heidde, 
But "Agayne, agayne !" caime with ane ryfte, 

Quhill after hee wals deidde. 

Then all the lande togedder ranne 

To prieste and holy fryer, 
And there wals prayeris in every kirke, 

And hymnis in every quire ; 

For Lyttil Pynkie helde hir plaice 

At lordlye Kilbogye, 
And of everilk chamber in the housse 

Lyttil Pynkie keepit the ke. 

So wordis gone eiste and wordis gone weste, 

From Solwaye unto the Clyde, 
And wordis gone to the greate Mass John 

That livit on Cloudan syde. 

So he is awaye to Kilbogye halle 

These lordlys maidis to saive, 
And conjure that wylde thyng away 

Into the Eeidd Sea's wave. 

Quhan he caime to Kilbogye yette 

He tirlit at the pynne, 
And quha wals so readdye als Lyttil Pynkie 

To ryse and let him in. 

" Bairne, I haif wordis to say to you 

On matter most sincere ; 
Quhare is the countreye you caime frome, 

And quha wals it sente you heirre ?" 

" I caime from ane countreye farre awaye, 
A regioune caulme and sweitte, 

For all the stern is of the milky waye 
Were farre benethe our feitt. 

" But I haif romit this yirthlye sphere 

Some vyrgin soulis to wynne, 
Since maydis were born the slaives of love, 

Of sorrowe, and of synne. 









mm 









FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



481 



™ By nychte and daye and glomyng graye, 

By grofe and greinwode tree; 
Oh if you kennit quhat I haif donne 

To keippe them fayre and free ! 

" I haif satte upon theyre waifyng lockis 

Als daunceyng on the greinne, 
And watchit the blushes of the cheeke 

And glances of the eeyne. 

" I have whysperit dremys into theyre 
eirris, 

Of all the snairis of lofe; 
And coolit theyre yong and hopyng brestis 

With devvis distyllit abofe." 

" But O thou wylde and wycked thyng, 

Thynk of this virgyn bande, 
Thou'st taiken theyre fader from theyre 
heid, 

Theyre pastor from theyre hand." 

" That fader wals ane man so wylde, 

Disgraice of human fraime ; 
Hee kepit sevin Iemanis in his halle, 

And maide it house of shaime ; 
And his fat Chaiplyng — worste of alle, 

Theyre dedis I maye not naime. 

'* Before ane of those maydis had blomit 

In lufely laidyhode, 
Each wold haif loste hir quhite cleethyng, 

But and hir sylken snode. 

" Then blaime me not now, good Mass 
John, 

For workyng of this skaithe; 
It wals the mennis besettyng synue 

That tosted them to dethe. 

" But now, Mass John, I know you are 

A gude man and ane true ; 
Therefore I yield my vyrgin chairge 

With plesure up to you. 

" For O there is moche for me to doo 
'Mong maydenis mylde and meike; 

Men are so wycked heire belowe, 
And wemyng are so weake. 

'* But I will baithe your eeyne, Mass John, 

With unguent of the skye; 
And you shall heirre with oder eirre, 

And se with Oder eye. 




"And you shall se the richte and wrong, 

With soule of dredde withynne; 
Quhat habitantis you dwelle amang, 

Quhat worlde you sojourne in." 

Sho touchit his eye, sho touchit his eirre, 

With unguent of the skye, 
Distillit from flowris of hevinlye boweris, 

That nevir nevir die. 

Mass John hee turnit him rounde aboute, 

To se quhat hee colde se ; 
f< Quhat's this ! quhat's this !" cryit goode Mass 

" Quhat hath befallen mee ! [John, 

" For outhir I am sounde asleippe, 

And in ane feirsome dreime ; 
Or else I'm deidd, and gane to hevin, 

Which raither wolde beseime. 

w For spyritis come and spyritis go, 

Of eviry shaipe and shaide, 
With ghostis and demonis not ane few, 

Sothe I am sore afrayde ! 

" Quhare is— quhare is Lyttil Pynkie gone r" 

I cannot brooke this payne; — 
Oh ! taik this oyntment off myne eeyne, 

And maike mee blynde agayne. 

" How can I live, or moove, or thynk 

With spiritis to congree; 
I no acquaintance haif of them, 

And they haif nonne of mee I" 

But Lyttil Pynkie she wals gane 

Awaye by daille and glenne, 
To guarde the vyrginis of the lande 

From wylis of wycked menne. 

And goode Mass John is lefte alone 

'Mang spyritis of everilk hue ; 
There were spyritis blacke, and spyritis quhyte, 

And spyritis greene and blue. 

And theye were moovyng tco and fro 

'Mang thyngis of mortal birthe, 
Als thicke als burdis upon the bough, 

Or human thingis on yirth. 

Eache vyrgin had ane guardian fere, 

Als fayre as flowir of Maye ; 
And hee himself ane great blacke dougge 

That wolde not pass awaye. 
2h 



r^K* 









482 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






. 



And some had devilis to bee theyre maitis, 

And some had two or thre, 
That playit soche prankis with maidis and 
Sanctis, 

As wals ane shaime to se. 

And then the dougge — the great blacke 
dougge, 

Kept lokyng in his faice, 
"With many a dark and meanyng scowlle, 

And many a sly grimaice. 

It wals ane lyffe hee colde not brooke, 

He wals so hard bestedde ; 
He eolde not preiehe, hee colde not praye — 

He colde not sleippe in bedde. 

For evin within the haly kirke, 

By that amaizyng spelle, 
He saw some scenis before his faice 

Als I can hardlye telle. 

Soche als ane spyrit spreddyng clothe 

Before ane tailoris eeyne ; 
And hee wals steillyng in his herte, 

Trowing hee wals not seene. 

And some wolde shaike ane mychtie purse 

Before the courtieris sychte, 
Quha solde his countrye for the saime 

With very greate delychte. 

And some were throwyng cairdis and dysse 

To many a drowsye wychte, 
Quha playit and cursit, and cursit and 
playit, 

Before theyre pastoris sychte. 

And some were wooyng maydinis dynke 

With sylkis and satynis fyne, 
And some with vowis and wycked teris, 

Ane very deirre propyne. 

And some were tyckelling maydinis oulde 
With thoughtis of manlye youth; 

Yea, half the scenis the kirke withynne 
Were synnfulle and uncouthe. 

Mass John aft tryit to close his eeyne 
And shutte them from his sychte ; 

For there were prankis so very drolle, 
Theye maide him laugh outrychte. 



There wals no thoughtis withynne the heriis* 

Though secrete and untolde, 
But theye were acted in his sychte 

By spyritis manifolde. 

He wyshed for dethe, and colde not lie 
Suche strange enchantment under, 

Thus wanderyng with a spyritis eye 
Amid a worlde of wonder. 

For manne most be ane mortyl thyng, 

With ane immortyl mynde, 
Or passe the dore of dethe, and leive 

Mortalitye behynde. 

So goode Mass John longit ferventlye 

That lyffe with him were donne, 
To mix with spiritis or with menne, 

But only with the onne. 

And then the dougge, the greate blacke dougge, 

Wals ever in his plaice ; 
Evin at the altar there it stode, 

And stairit him in the faiee. 

Mass John wente home and layit him downe, 

And soon wals with the deidde, 
And the bonnye maydis of Kilbogye 

Are lefte withoute ane heidde. 

Quhan sevin long yeris had come and passit. 

With blynke and showir awaye, 
Then Lyttil Pynkie sho caime backe 

Upon ane hallow-daye. 

But the straynis that Lyttil Pynkie sung 

A.t settying of the sonne, 
Were nevir forgotte by old or young, 

Quhill lyffe with them wals done. 

Quhat then wals sayit, or quhat was donne, 

No mynstrelle evir knewe ; 
But the bonnye maydis of Kilbogye 

With beauty blomit anewe. 

Some demyt that theye wolde pass awaye 

To Oder lande than this ; 
But they lyvit the lyvis that wemyng lofe, 

Of sociale yirthlie blisse. 

But many a taille in westlande daille, 

Quainte rhyme and fairye laye, 
There yet remaynis of Pynkie's straynis, 

Upon the hallow-daye. 



$ 






FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



[From " The Queen's W ake," by James Hogg.] 

" Quhare haif ye been, ye ill womyne, 
These three lang nightis fra hame 

Quhat garris the sweit drap fra yer brow, 
Like clotis of the saut sea faem ? 

" It fearis me muckil ye haif seen 

Quhat guid man never knew ; 
It fearis me muckil ye haif been 

Quhare the gray cock never crew. 

" Eut the spell may crack, and the brydel 
breck, 

Then sherpe yer werde will be ; 
Ye had better sleippe in yer bed at hame, 

Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me." — 

" Sit doune, sit doune, my leil auld man. 

Sit doune, and listen to me ; 
I'll gar the hayre stand on yer crown, 

And the cauld sweit blind yer e'e. 

'* But tell nae wordis, my guid auld man, 

Tell never word again ; 
Or deire shall be yer court'.sye, 

And driche and sail- yer pain. 

" The first leet night, quhan the new moon 
set, 
Quhan all was douffe and mirk, 
We saddled ouir naigis wi' the moon-fern 
leif, 
And rode fra Kilmerrin kirk. 

' ' Some horses ware of the brume-cow framit, 
And some of the greine bay tree ; 

But mine was made of ane humloke schaw, 
And a stout stallion was he. 

" We raide the tod doune on the hill, 

The martin on the law ; 
And we huntyd the hoolet out of brethe, 

And forcit him doune to fa'." — 

" Quhat guid was that, ye ill womyne ? 

Quhat guid was that to thee ? 
Ye wald better haif been in yer bed at hame, 

Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me." — 



" And aye we raide, and se merrily we raide, 
Throw the merkist gloffis of the night ; 

And we swam the floode, and we darnit the 
woode, 
Till we cam' to the Lommond height. 

" And quhan we cam' to the Lommoiu! 
height, 
Se lythlye we lychtid doune ; 
And we drank fra the hornis that never grew, 
* The beer that was never browin. 

" Then up there raise ane wee wee man, 

Fra nethe the moss-gray stane ; 
His fece was wan like the collifloure, 

For he nouthir hud blude nor bane. 

" He set ane reid-pipe til his muthe, 

And he playit se bonnilye, 
Till the gray curlew and the black-cock flew 

To listen his melodye. 

"It rang se sweit through the grein Lom- 
mond, 

That the nycht-winde lowner blew; 
And it soupit alang the Loch Leven, 

And wakinit the white sea-mew. 

" It rang se sweit through the grein Lommond, 

Se sweitly butt and se shill, 
That the wezilis laup out of their mouldy 
holis, 

And dancit on the mydnycht hill. 

" The corby craw cam' gled^in' near, 

The era ged veeryng bye ; 
And the troutis laup out of the Leven Loch, 

Charmit with the nielodye. 

"And aye we dancit on the grein Lommond, 
Till the dawn on the ocean grew : 

Ne wonder I was a weary wycht 
QuLan I earn' hame to yuu." 

"Quhat guid, quhat guid, my weird weird 
wyfe, 

Quhat guid was that to thee ? 
Ye wald better haif bein in yer bed at hanit-. 

Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me." 

" The second nycht, quhan the new moon set, 

O'er the roaryng sea we flew ; 
The cockle-shell our trusty bark, 

Our sailis of the grein sea -rue. 



484. 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



ef 






" And the bauld windis blew, and the fire- 
flauchtis flew, 
A nd the sea ran to the skie ; 
And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs 
howlit, 
As we gaed scouryng bye. 

" And aye we mountit the sea-grein hillis, 
Quhill we brushit through the cludis of the 
hevin ; 

Than sousit dounright like the stern-shot lignt, 
Fra the liftis blue casement driven. 

" But our taickil stood, and our bark was good, 
And se pang was our pearily prowe ; 

Quhan we culdna speil the brow of the wavis, 
We needilit them throu' belowe. 

"is fast as the hail, as fast as the gale, 

As fast as the mydnycht leme, 
"We borit the braiste of the burstyng swale, 

Or fluffit i' the flotyng faem. 

"And quhan to the Norraway shore we wan, 
We muntyd our steedis of the wynde, 

And we splashit the floode, and we darnit the 
woode, 
And we left the shouir behynde. 

" Fleit is the roe on the grein Lommond, 

And swift is the couryng grew, 
The rein-deir dun can eithly run, 

Quhan the houndis and the hornis pursue. 

" But nowther the roe, nor the rein-deir dun, 

The hinde nor the couryng grew, 
Culde fly owr montaine, muir, and dale, 

As our braw steedis they flew. 

" The dales war deep, and the Doffrinis steep, 
And we raise to the skyis ee-bree ; 

Quhite, quhite was our rode, that was never 
trode, 
Owr the snawis of eternity ! 

" And quhan we cam' to the Lapland lone, 

The fairies war all in array ; 
For all the genii of the north 

War keipyng their holeday. 

" The warlock men and the weird wemyng, 
And the fays of the wood and the steip, 

And the phantom hunteris all war there, 
And the raermaidis of the deip. 



" And they washit us all with the witch -water, 

Distillit fra the muirland dew, 
Quhill our beauty blumit like the Lapland rose, Jl 

That wylde in the foreste grew." — 

" Ye lee, ye lee, ye ill womyne, 

Se loud as 1 heir ye lee ! 
For the warst-faurd wyfe on the shoris of Fyfe 

Is cumlye comparit wi* thee." — 

" Then the mermaidis sang and the woodlandis 
'eitly swellit the quire; [rang, 



On every cliff a herpe they hang, 
On every tree a lyre. 




" And aye the sang, and the woodlandis rang, I 
And we drank, and we drank se deip ; 

Then saft in the armis of the warlock men, 
We laid us doun to sleip." — 

" Away, away, ye ill womyne, 

An ill deide met ye dee ! 
Quhan ye ha'e pruvit se false to yer God, 

Ye can never pruve true to me." — 

" And there we learnit fra the fairy foke, 

And fra our master true, 
The wordis that can beire us throu' the air, 

And lokkis and barris undo. 

" Last nyeht we met at Maisry's cot ; 

Richt weil the wordis we knew ; 
And we set a foot on the black cruik-shell, 

And out at the lum we flew. 

" And we flew owr hill, and we flew owr dale, 

And we flew owr firth and sea, 
Until we cam' to merry Carlisle, 

Quhare we lightit on the lea. 

' We gaed to the vault beyound the towir, £^ 

Quhare we enterit free as ayr ; 
And we drank, and we drank of the bishopis 

Quhill we culde drynk ne mair." — [wine 

" Gin that be true, my guid auld wyfe, 

Whilk thou hast tauld to me, 
Betide my death, betide my lyfe, 

I'll beire thee companye. 

" Neist tyme ye gaung to merry Carlisle 

To drynk of the blude-reid wyne, 
Beshrew my heart, I'll fly with thee, 

If the deil should fly behynde." 

(S3 






FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 






45,5 



* c Ah ! little do ye ken, my silly auld man, 

The daingeris we maun dree ; 
Last nychte we drauk of the bishopis wyne, 

Quhill near near ta'en war we, 

* : Afore we wan to the Sandy Ford, 

The gor-cockis nichering flew ; 
The lofty crest of Ettrick Pen 

"Was wavit about with blue, 
And, flichtering throu' the ayr, we fand 

The chill jchiil mornyng dew. 

*' As we flew ower the hillis of Braid, 

The sun raise fair and cleir ; 
There gurly James, and his baronis braw, 

Wax out to hunt the deir, 

l( Their bowis they drew, their arrowis flew, 

And piercit the ayr with speide, 

<?uhill purpil fell the mornyng dew 

:.h-blude rank and reide. 

" Littil do ye ken, my silly auld man. 

The daingeris we maun dree ; 
Ne wonder I am a weary wycht 

Quhan I come name to thee." — 

" But tell me the word, my guid auld wyfe, 

Ck>me tell it speedilye : 
For I lang to drynk of the guid reide wyne, 

And to wyng the ayr with thee. 

" Yer hellish horse I wilna ryde, 

X or sail the seas in the wynde ; 
But I can flee as weil as thee, 

And I'll drynk quhill ye be blynd." — 

-' fy ! O fy ! my leil auld man, 

That word 1 darena tell ; 
it wald turn this warld all upside down, 

And make it warse than hell. 

*' Fot all the lasses in the land 

Wald munt the wynde and fly ; 
And the men wald doff their doubltts syde, 

And after them wald ply." — 

But the auld guidman was ane cunnyng auld 
man, 
And ane cunnyng auld man was he ; 
And he watchit, and he watchit for xnony a 
nychte, 
The witches' nychte to see. 



Ane nyeht he darnit in Maisrys cot; 

The fearless haggs cam' in ; 
And he heard the word of awsome weird, 

And he saw their deids of s\nu. 

Then ane by ane they said that word, 

As fast to the fire they drew ; 
Then set a foot on the black cruik-shell, 

And out at the lum they flew. 

The auld guidman cam' fra his hole 

With feire and muckil dreide, 
But yet he culdna think to rue, 

For the wyne cam' in his head. 

He set his foot in the black cruik-shell, 
With ane fixit and ane wawlying e'e ; 

And he said the word that I darena say, 
And out at the lum flew he. 

The witches skalit the moon-beam pale ; 

Deep groanit the trembling wynde ; 
But they never wist till our auld guidman 

Was hoveryng them behynde. 

They flew to the vaaltis of merry Carlisle, 

Quhare they enterit free as ayr ; 
And they drank and they drank ofthebishoplg 

Quhill they cuiie drynk ne mair. [wyne 

The auld guidman he grew se crouse, 
He dauncit on the mouldy ground, 

And he sang the bonniest sangs of Fyie, 
And he tuzzlit the kerlyngs round. 

And aye he piercit the tither butt, 

And he suckit, and he suckit sae lang, 

Quhill his een they closit, and his voice grew 
And his tongue waid hardly gang. [low, 

The kerlyngs drank of the bishopis wyne 
Quhili they scentit the morning wynde ; 

Then clove again the yielding ayr, 
And left the auld man behj nde. 

And aye he sleipit on the damp damp fl or, 

He sleipit and he snorit amain ; 
He never drean.it he was far fra name, 

Or that the auld wyvis war gane. 

And aye he sleipit on the damp damp nV r, 

Quhill past the mid-day highte, 
Quhan wakenit by five rough Englishmen, 
--tilit him to the hchtc 



. 



-, 



^ : 






" Now quha are ye, ye silly auld man, 
That sleipis se sound and se weil ? 

Or how gat ye into the bishopis vault 
Throu' lokkis and barris of steel ?" 

The auld guidman he tryit to speak, 

But ane word he culdna fynde ; 
He tryit to think, but his head whirlit round, 

And ane thing he culdna rnynde : — - 
" I cam' fra Fyfe," the auld man eryit, 

" And 1 cam' on the mydnicht wynde." 

They nickit the auld man, and they prickit the 
auld man, 

And they yerkit his limbis with twine, 
Quhill the reide blude ran in his hose and shoon, 

But some cryit it was wyne. 

They lickit the auld man, and they prickit the 
auld man, 

And they tyit him till ane stone ; 
And they set ane bele-fire him about, 

To burn him skin and bone. 

" wae to me !" said the puir auld man, 

" That ever I saw the day ! 
And wae be to all the ill wemyng 

That lead puir men astray ! 

" Let nevir ane auld man after this 

To lawless greide inclyne ; 
Let nevir ane auld man after this 

Rin post to the deil for wyne." 

The reike flew up in the auld manis face, 

And choukit him bitterlye; 
And the lowe cam' up with ane angry blese, 

And it syngit his auld breek-knee. 

He lukit to the land fra whence he cam', 

For lukis he culde get ne mae; 
And he thochte of his deire little bairnis at 
name, 

And the auld man was wae ! 

But they turnit their facis to the sun, 
With gloffe and wonderous glair, 

For they saw ane thing beth lairge and dun, 
Comin' svvaipin down the ayr. 

That burd it cam' fra the landis o' Fyfe, 

And it cam' ryoht tymeouslye, 
For quha was it but the auld manis wife, 

J '>tt oomit his dethe to see. 



Scho put ane reide cap on his heide, 
And the auld guidman lookit fain, 

Then whisperit ane word intil his lug, 
And tovit to the ayr again. 

The auld guidman he ga'e ane bob, 
V the mids o' the burnyng lowe; 

And the sheklis that band him to the ring, 
They fell fra his armis like towe. 

He drew his breath, and he said the word, 
And he said it with muckil glee, 

Then set his fit on the burnyng pile, 
And away to the ayr flew he. 

Till aince he eleirit the swirlyng reike, 

He lukit beth ferit and sad ; 
But whan he wan to the lycht blue ayr, 

He lauchit as he'd been mad. 

His armis war spred, and his held was 
hiche, 

And his feite stack out behynde ; 
And the laibies of the auld mauis cote 

"War wauffing in the wynde. 

And aye he neicherit, and aye he flew, 
For he thochte the ploy se ra : .re ; 

It was like the voice of the gainder blue, 
Quhan he flees throu' the ayr. 

He lukit back to the Carlisle men 

As he borit the norlan sky ; 
He noddit his heide, and ga'e ane girn, 

But he nevir said guid-bye. 

They vanisht far i' the liftis blue wale, 

Ne mair the English saw, 
But the auld manis lauche cam* on the 
gale, 

With a lang and a loud gaffa. 

May evir ilke man in the land of Fyfe 
Head what the drinkeris dree ; 

And nevir curse his puir auld wife, 
Kychte wicked altho' scho be. 









FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



4S7 









[Modern Ballad. — Johx Lhyden. — From 
the Border Minstrelsy. " The hero of this bal- 
lad was William, lord Soulis, who appears to 
have possessed the whole district of Liddesdale, 
with Westerkirk and Kirkandrews, in Dumfries- 
shire, the lands of Gilmertoun, near Edinburgh, 
and the rich baronies of Xisbet, Longnewton, 
Caverton, Maxtoun, and Mertoun, in Roxburgh- 
shire. He was of royal descent, being the grand- 
son of Nicholas de soulis, who claimed the crown 
of Scotland, in right of his grandmother, daugh- 
ter to Alexander II.; and who, could her legiti- 
macy have been ascertained, must have excluded 
the other competitors. The elder brother of Wil- 
liam, was John de Soulis, a gallant warrior, 
warmly attached to the interests of his country, 
who, with fifty borderers, defeated and made 
prisoner Sir Andrew Harclay, at the head of I 
three hundred Englishmen -; and was himself 
slain fighting in the cause of Edward the Bruce, 
at the battle of Dundalk, in Ireland, 1318. He 
had been joint-warden of the kingdom with 
John Cummin, after the abdication of the im- 
mortal Wallace, in 1300; in which character he 
was reeoguised by John Baliol, who, in a charter 
granted after his dethronement, and dated at 
Rutherglen, in the ninth year of his reign (1302,) 
styles him ' Custos regni nostri.' The treason of 
William, his successor, occasioned the downfall 
of the family. This powerful baron entered into 
a conspiracy against Robert the Bruce, in which 
many persons of rank were engaged. The ob- 
ject, according to Barbour, was to elevate Lord 
Soulis to the Scottish throne. The plot was dis- 
covered by the countess of Strathern. Lord 
Soulis was seized at Berwick, although he was 
attended, says Barbour, by three hundred and 
6ixty squires, besides many gallant knights. 
Having confessed his guilt, in full parliament, 
his life was spared by the king; but his domains 
were forfeited, and he himself confined in the 
castle of Dumbarton, where he died. Many of 
his accomplices were -xecuted; among others, 
the gallant David de Brechin, nephew to tue 
king, whose sole crime was having concealed the 
treason, in which he disdained to participate.* 



i^The parliament, in which so much noble blood 
was shed, was long remembered by the name of 

1 the ' Black Parliament.' It was held in the 

; year 1320. 

! " From this period, the family of Soulis makes 
no figure in our annals. Local tradition, how- 
ever, more faithful to the popular sentiment 
than history, has recorded the character of their 
chief, and attributed to him many actions which 
seem to correspond with that character. His 
portrait is by no means flattering; uniting every 
quality which could render strength formidable, 
and cruelty detestable. Combining prodigious 
bodily strength with cruelty, avarice, dissimula- 
tion, and treachery, is it surprising that a people, 
who attributed every event of life, in a great mea- 
sure, to the interference of good or evil spirits, 
should have added to such a character the mysti- 
tical horrors of sorcery ? Thus, he is represented as 
a cruel tyrant and sorcerer; constantly employed 
in oppressing his vassals, harassing his neighbours, 
and fortifying his castle of Hermitage against the 
king of Scotland ; for which purpose he employ- 
ed a.l means, human and infernal; invoking the 
fiends, by his incantations, and forcing his vas- 
sals to drag materials, like beasts of burden. 

' Tradition proceeds to relate, that the Scottish 

j king, irritated by reiterated complaints, peevish- 
ly exclaimed to the petitioners, " Boil him if 

1 you pleas?, but let me hear no more of him.' 
Satisfied with this answer, they proceeded with 
the utmost haste to execute the commission ; 
which they accomplished, by boiling him alive 

' on the JSine-stane Rig, in a cauldron, said to 
have been long preserved at Skelf-hUl, a hamlet 
betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage. Messen- 
gers, it is said, were immediately dispatched by 
the king, to prevent the effects of such a hasty 
declaration; but they only arrived in time to 



• As the people thronged to the execution of the , 



gallant youth, they were bitterly rebuked by Sir Ingram 
de Umfraville, an English or Xornian knight, then a 
favourite follower of Robert Bruce. " Why press you/' 
said he, " to see the dismal catastrophe of so gene- 
rous a knight? I have seen ye tnrong as eagerly 
around hirn to share his bounty, as now to behold his 
death." "with these words he turned from the scene 
of blood, and repairing to the king, craved leave to 
sell his Scottish possessions, and to retire from the 
country. ' ; My heart," said Umfraville, " will not, 
fur the wealth of the world, permit me to dwell any 
longer, where I have seen such a knight die by the 
hands of the executioner." With the king's leave, he 
interred the body of David de Brechin, so.d his lands, 
and left Scotland for ever. The story is beautufuiiy 
told by Barbour, bock 19tlu— Scott, 






488 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






■witness the conclusion of the ceremony. The ' 
castle of Hermitage, unable to support the load 
of iniquity, which had long been accumulating 
within its walls, is supposed to have partly sunk 
beneath the ground ; and its ruins are still re- 
garded by the peasants with peculiar aversion 
and terror. The door of the chamber, where 
Lord Soulis is said to have held his conferences 
with evil spirits, is supposed to be opened once 
in seven years, by that daemon, to which, when 
he left the castle, never to return, he committed 
the keys, by throwing them over his left shoulder, 
and desiring it to keep them till his return. 
Into this chamber, which is really the dungeon 
of the castle, the peasant is afraid to look ; for 
such is the active malignity of its inmate, that a 
willow inserted at the chinks of the door, is 
found peeled, or stripped of its bark, when 
drawn back. The Nine-stane Rig, where Lord 
Soulis was boiled, is a declivity about one mile 
in breadth, and four in length, descending upon 
the water of Hermitage, from the range of hills 
which separate Liddesdale and Teviotdale. It 
derives its name from one of those circles of 
large stones, which are termed Druidical, nine 
of which remained to a late period. Five of 
thesa stones are still visible ; and two are parti- 
cularly pointed out, as those which supported 
the iron bar, upon which the fatal cauldron 
was suspended. 

" The formation of ropes of sand, according to 
popular tradition, was a work of such difficulty, 
that it was assigned by Michael Scot to a num- 
ber of spirits, for which it was necessary for him 
to find some interminable employment. Upon 
discovering the futility of their attempts to ac- 
complish the work assigned, they petitioned 
their task-master to be allowed to mingle a few 
handfuls of barley -chaff with the sand. On his 
refusal, they were forced to leave untwisted the 
ropes which they had shaped. Such is the tradi- 
tionary hypothesis of the vermicular ridges of the 
sand on the shore of the sea. 

" Redcap is a popular appellation of that class 
of spirits which haunt old castles. Every ruined 
tower in the south of Scotland is supposed to 
have an inhabitant of this species." — Border 
Minstrelsy. 

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle, 
And beside him Old Redcap sly ; — 

" Now, tell me, thou sprite, who art meikle of 
might, 
The death that I must die ?" 



" While thou shalt bear a charmed life, 

And hold that life of me, 
'Gainst lance and arrow, sword and knife, 

I shall thy warrant be. 

" Not forged steel, nor hempen band, 

Shall e'er thy limbs confine, 
Till threefold ropes of sifted sand 

Around thy body twine. 

"If danger press fast, knock thrice on the 
chest, 

With rusty padlocks bound ; 
Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall rise, 

And listen to the sound." 

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle, 

And Redcap was not by ; 
And he called on a page, who was witty and 
sage, 

To go to the barmkin high. 

" And look thou east, and look thou west, 

And quickly come tell to me, 
What troopers haste along the waste, 

And what may their livery be." 

He looked o'er fell, and he looked o'er fiat, 

But nothing, I wist, he saw, 
Save a pyot on a turret that sat 

Beside a corby craw. 

The page he look'd at the skrieh * of day, 

But nothing, 1 wist, he saw, 
Till a horseman gray, in the royal array, 

Rode down the Hazel-shaw. 

" Say, why why do you cross o'er muir and 
moss ?" 

So loudly cried the page ; 
" I tidings bring, from Scotland's king, 

To Soulis of Hermitage. 

" He bids me tell that bloody warden, 

Oppressor of low and high, 
If ever again his lieges complain, 

The cruel Soulis shall die." 

By traitorous sleight they seized the knight, 

Before he rode or ran, 
And through the key-stone of the vault, 

They plunged him, horse and man. 




* Skrieh— Beep. 






FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



489 



O May she came, and May she gaed, 

By Goranberry green ; 
And May she was the fairest maid, 

That ever yet was seen. 

O May she came, and May she gaed, 

By Goranberry tower ; 
And who was it but cruel Lord Souiis, 

That earned her from her bower. 

He brought her to his castle gray, 

By Hermitage's side ; 
Says — '"' Be content, my lovely May, 

For thou shalt be my bride." 

With her yellow hair, that glittered fair, 

She dried the trickling tear ; 
She sighed the name of Branxholm's heir, 

The youth that loved her dear. 

" Now, be content, my bonnie May, 

And take it for your hame ; 
Or ever and aye shall je rue the day, 

You heard young Branxholm's name. 

"O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning 
hour, 
"When the lilt is like lead so blue, 
The s.i.oke shall roll white on the weary- 
night, 
And the flame shine dimly through." 

Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red, 

A sturdy kemp was he ; 
From friend or foe, in border feid, 

Who never a foot would flee. 

Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led, 

Up Goranberry Slack; 
Aye, many a wight, unmatched in fight, 

Who never more came back. 

And bloody set the westering sun, 

And bloody rose he up ; 
But little thought young Branxholm's heir, 

Where he that night should sup. 

He shot the roe-buck on the lee, 

The dun deer on the law ,- 
The glamour * sure was ;n his e'e, 

When Ringan nigh did draw. 




4& O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge, 
He sped till day was set; 
And he thought it was his merry men true, 
When he the spearmen met. 

Far from relief, they seized the chief; 

His men were far away ; 
Thro' Hermitage Slack, they sent him back, 

To Souiis' castle gray ; 
Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower, 

Where all his merry men lay. 

" Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir J 
Thrice welcome," quoth Soulio to me ! 

" Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair, 
My wedding guest to be . J 

And lovely May deserves, per fay, 
A brideman such as thee 1" 

And broad and bloody rose the sun, 

And on the barmkin shone ; 
When the page was aware of Red Ringan 

Who came riding all alone. [there, 

To the gate of the tower Lord Souiis he speeds, 

As he lighted at the wall, 
Says — " Where did ye stable my stalwart 
steeds, 

And where do they tarry all ?" 

" We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir; 

We stabled them sure," quoth he : 
" Before we could cross that quaking moss, 

They all were lost but mc." 

He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the 
And he heard a stifled groan ; [chest, 

And at the third knock, each rusty lock 
Did open one by one. 

He turned away his eyes, as the lid did ris-?, 

And he listened sdentlie ; 
And he heard breathed slow, in murmurs lo.v, 

" Beware of a coming tree !" 

In muttering sound the rest was drowned ; 

No other word heard he; 
But slow as it rose, the lid did close, 

With the rusty padlocks three. 

Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother, 

The Teviot, hhjh and low ; 
Bauld Walter by name, of meikle fame, 

For none could bend his bow. 









JfSv 

en? 






O'er glen and glade, to Soulis there sped 

The fame of his array, 
And that Teviotdale would soon assail 

His towers and castle gray. 

With clenched fist, he knocked on the chest, 

And again he heard a groan ; 
And he raised his eyes as the lid did rise, 

But answer heard he none. 

The charm was broke, when the spirit spoke, 

And it murmur'd sullenlie, — 
" Shut fast the door, and for evermore, 

Commit to me the key. 

" Alas ! that ever thou raised'st thine eyes, 

Thine eyes to look on me ! * 
Till seven years are o'er, return no more, 

For here thou must not be." 

Think not but Soulis was wae to yield 

His warlock chamber o'er ; 
He took the keys from the rusty lock, 

That never was ta'en before. 

He threw them o'er his left shoulder, 

With meikle care and pain;f 
And he bade it keep them fathoms deep, 

Till he returned again. 



* The idea of Lord Soulis' familiar seems to 
be derived from the curious story of the spirit 
Orthone and the Lord of Corasse, in Froissart. 
Scott. 

f The circumstance of Lord Soulis having 
thrown the key over his left shoulder, and bid 
the fiend keep it till his return, is noted in the 
introduction, as a part of his traditionary his- 
tory. In the course of this autumn (1806,) the 
Earl of Dalkeith being encamped near the Her- 
mitage Castle for the amusement of shooting, 
directed some workmen to clear away the rub- 
bish from the door of the dungeon, in order to 
ascertain its ancient dimensions and architec- 
ture. To the great astonishment of the labourers, 
and of the country people who were watching 
their proceedings, a rusty iron key, of considera- 
ble size, was found among the ruins, a little way 
from the dungeon door. The well-known tradi- 
tion instantly passed from one to another ; and 
it was generally agreed, that the malevolent dae- 
mon, who had so long retained possession of the 
key of the castle, now found himself obliged to 
resign it to the heir-apparent of the domain. In ! 



And still, when seven years are o'er, 

Is heard the jarring sound ; 
Whan slowly opes the charmed door 

Of the chamber under ground. 

And some within the chamber door 

Have cast a curious eye ; 
But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell, 

The fearful sights they spy. 

When Soulis thought on his merry men now, 

A woeful wight was he ; 
Says, — "Vengeance is mine, and I will not <T 
repine ! 

But Branxholm's heir shall die." 

Says— "What would you do, young Branx- 
holm, 

Gin ye had me, as I have thee !" 
" I would take you to the good greenwood, 

And gar your ain hand wale $ the tree." 

" Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree, 
For all thy mirth and meikle pride ; 

And May shall chuse, if my love she refuse, 
A scrog bush thee beside." 

They carried him to the good greenwood, 
Where the green pines grew in a row ; 

And they heard the cry, from the branches high, 
Of the hungry carrion crow. 



the course of their researches, a large iron ladle, 
somewhat resembling that used by plumbers, 
was also discovered ; and both the reliques are 
now in Lord Dalkeith's possession. 

In the summer of 1805, another discovery was 
made in the haunted ruins of Hermitage. In a 
recess of the wall of the castle, intended appa- 
rently for receiving the end of a beam or joist, a 
boy, seeking for birds' nests, found a very curious 
antique silver ring, embossed with hearts, the 
well-known cognisance of the Douglas family, 
placed interchangeably with quatre-foils all 
round the circle. The workmanship has an un- 
commonly rude and ancient appearance, and 
warrants our believing that it may have belong- 
ed to one of the earls of Angus, who carried the 
heart and quatre-foils in their arms. They part- 
ed with the castle and lordship of Liddesdale, in 
exchange for that of Both well, in the beginning 
of the 16th century.— Scott. 

$ Wale— choose. 



^22 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY, 



491 



They carried him on from tree to tree, 

The spiry boughs below; 
" Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine, 

To feed the hooded crow ?" 

" The fir-tops fall by Branxholm wall, 
"When the night blast stirs the tree, 
And it shall not be mine to die on the pine, 
I loved in infancie." 

Young Branxholm turned him, and oft looked 
back, 

And aye he passed from tree to tree ; 
Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly* spake, 

" sic a death is no for me J" 

And next they passed the aspin gray, 
Its leaves were rustling mournfullie : 

" Now,, chuse thee, chuse thee, Branxholm 
Say, wilt thou never chuse the tree ?" [gay I 

" More dear to me is the aspin gray, 

More dear than any other tree ; 
For beneath the shade, that its branches made, 

Have past the vows of my love and me." 

Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly spake, 

Until he did his ain men see, 
With witches' hazel in each steel cap, 

In scorn of Soulis' gramarye ; 
Then shoulder height for glee he lap, 

" Methinks I spye a coming tree I" 

" Aye, many may come, but few return," 
Quo* Soulis, the lord of gramarye ; 

" No warrior's hand in fair Scotland 
Shall ever dint a wound on me !" 

" Now, by my sooth," quo' bauld Walter, 
" If that be true we soon shall see." 

His bent bow he drew, and the arrow was true, I 
But never a wound or scar had he. 

Then up bespake him true Thomas, 
He was the lord of Ersyltoun : 
: The wizard's spell no steel can quell, 
Till once your lances bear him down." 

They bore him down with lances bright, 
But never a wound or scar had he ; 

With hempen bands they bound him tight, 
Both hands and feet on the Nine-stane lee. 



' Puirly— softly. 



iJ&K^ x^^cA 




That wizard accurst, the bands he burst ; 

They mouldered at his magic spell; 
And neck and heel, in the forged steel, 

They bound him against the charms of hell. 

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst; 

No forged steel his charms could bide; 
Then up bespake him true Thomas, 

" We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide." 

The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
Impressed with many a warlock spell : 

And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott, 
Who held in awe the fiends of hell. 

They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep, 
That mortal man m:ght never it see : 

But Thomas did save it from the grave, 
When he returned from Faerie. 

The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
And turned the leaves with curious hand ; 

No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind, 
But threefold ropes of sifted sand. 

They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane burn, 
And shaped the ropes so curiouslie ; 

But the ropes would neither twist nor twine, 
For Thomas true and his gramarye. 

The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
And again he turned it with his hand ; 

And he bade each lad of Teviot add 
The barley chaff to the sifted sand. 

The barley chaff to the sifted sand 
They added still by handfulls nine; 

But Redcap sly unseen was by, 

And the ropes would neither twist nor twine. 

And still beside the Nine-stane burn, 
Ribbed like the sand at in ark of sea 

The ropes, that would not twist nor turn, 
Shaped of the sifted sand you see. 

The black spae-book true Thomas he took; 

Again its magic leaves he spread ; 
And he found that to quell the powerful spell, 

The wizard must be boiled in lead. 

On a circle of stones they placed the pot, 
On a circle of stones but barely nine ; 

They heated it red and fiery hot, [shine. 

Till the burnished brass did glimmer and 



: J 




ft^> 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



They rolled him up in a sheet of lead, 
A sheet of lead for a funeral pall ; 

They plunged him in the cauldron red, 
And melted him. lead, and bones, and all.* 









it, 



m 



tfc At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still 
The men of Liddesdale can show ; 
And on the spot, where they boiled the pot, 
The spieat+ and the deer-hair£ ne'er shall grow. 



* The tradition, regarding the death of Lord 
Soulis, however singular, is not without a paral- 
lel in the real history of Scotland. The same 
extraordinary mode of cookery was actually prac- 
tised (horresco ref evens) upon the body of a sheriff 
of the Mearns. This person, whose name was 
Melville of Glenbervie, bore his faculties so 
harshly, that he became detested by the barons 
of the country. Reiterated complaints of his 
conduct having been made to James I. (or, as 
others say, to the duke of Albany,) the monarch 
answered, in a moment of unguarded impa- 
tience, " Borrow gin the sheriff were sodden, 
and supped in broo !" The complainers retired, 
perfectly satisfied. Shortly after, the lairds of 
Arbuthnot, Mather, Laureston, and Pittaraw, 
decoyed Melville to the top of the hill of Gar- 
vock, above Lawrencekirk, under pretence of a 
grand hunting party. Upon this place (still 
called the Sheriff's Pot,) the barons had pre- 
pared a fire and a boiling cauldron, into which 
they plunged the unlucky sheriff. After he was 
sodden (as the king termed it,) for a sufficient 
time, the savages, that they might literally ob- 
serve the royal mandate, concluded the scene of 
abomination by actually partaking of the hell- 
broth. 

The three lairds were outlawed for this offence ; 
and Barclay, one of their number, to screen 
himself from justice, erected the kaim (t, e. 
the camp, or fortress) of Mathers, which stands. 
upon a rocky and almost inaccessible penin- 
sula, overhanging the German ocean. The laird 
of Arbuthnot is said to have eluded the royal 
vengeance, by claiming the benefit of the law o;' 
clan Macduff. A pardon, or perhaps a deed of 
replegiation, founded upon that law, is said to 
be still extant among the records of the viscount 
of Arbuthnot. 

Pellow narrates a similar instance of atrocity, 
perpetrated after the death of Muley Ismael, 
emperor of Morocco, in 1727, when the inhabi- 
tants of Old Fez, throwing of all allegiance to his 
successor, slew " Alchyde Boel le Rosea, their 
old governor, boiling his flesh, and many, through 
spite, eating thereof, and throwing what they 
could hot eat of it to the dogs." — See Pellow's 
Travels in South Barbary. And we may add, 



[Modern Ballad.— J. Lite-den.— " The tradi- 
tion," says Sir Walter, " on which the following 
ballad is founded derives considerable illustra- 
tion from the argument of the preceding. It is 
necessary to add, that the most redoubted adver - 
sary of Lord Soulis was the chief of Keeldar, a 
i Northumbrian district, adjacent to Cumberland, 
who perished in a sudden encounter on the 
banks of the Hermitage. Being arrayed in 
armour of proof, he sustained no hurt in the 
combat; but stumbling in retreating across the 
river, the hostile party held him down below 
water with their lances till he died; and the 
eddy, in which he perished, is still called the 
Cout of Keeldar's Pool. His grave, of gigantic 
6:ze, is pointed out on the banks of the Hermi- 
tage, at the western corner of a wall, surround- 
ing the burial-ground of a ruined chapel. As an 
enemy of Lord Soulis, his memory is revered ; 
and the popular epithet of Cout, i. e. Colt, is ex- 
pressive of his strength, stature, and activity. 
Tradition likewise relates, that the young chief 
of Mangerton, to whose protection Lord Soulis 
had, in some eminent jeopardy, been indebted 
for his life, was decoyed by that faithless tyrant 




to such tales, the oriental tyranny of Zenghis 
Khan, who immersed seventy Tartar Khans in 
as many boiling cauldrons. 

The punishment of boiling seems to have been 
in use among the English at a very late period, 
as appears from the following passage in Stowe's 
Chronicle: — " The 17th March (1524), Margaret 
Davy, a maid, was boiled at Smithfield for poison- 
ing of three households that she had dwelled in." 
But unquestionably the usual practice of Smith' 
field cookery, about that period, was by a diffe. 
rent application of fire. — Scott. 

f Spreat— the spreat is a species of water-rush. 
Scott. 

t Deer-hair — the deer-hair is a coarse species 
of pointed grass, which, in May, bears a very 
ffi minute, but beautiful yellow fl wer.— Scott. 




FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



403 



into his castle of Hermitage, and insidiously ££ 
murdered at a feast. 

" The Keeldar Stone, by which the Northum- 
brian chief passed in his incursion, is still pointed 
out, as a boundary mark, on the confines of Jed 
forest, and Northumberland. It is a rough in- 
sulated mass, of considerable dimensions, and it 
is held unlucky to ride thrice rvithershins* around 
it. Keeldar Castle is now a hunting seat, be- 
longing to the duke of Northumberland. 

" The Brown Man of the Muirs is a Fairy of 
the most malignant order, the genuine duergar, 
Walsingham mentions a story of an unfortunate 
youth, whose brains were extracted from his 
skull, during his sleep, by this malicious being. 
Owing to this ( peration, he remained insane 
many years, till the Yirgin Mary courteously re- 
stored his brains to their station."] 

The eiry blood-hound howled by night, 

The streamers! flaunted red, 
Till broken streaks of flaky light 

O'er Keeldar 's mountains spread. 

The lady sigh'd as Keeldar rose : 

" Come tell me, dear love mine, 
Go you to hunt where Keeldar flows, 

Or on the banks of Tyne ?" 

" The heath-bell blows where Keeldar flows, 

By Tyne the j rimrose pale ; 
But now we ride on the Scottish side, 

To hunt in Liddesdale." 

u Gin you will ride on the Scottish side, 

Sore must thy Margaret mourn ; 
For Soulis abhorred is Lyddall's lord, 

And I fear you'll ne'er return. 

** The axe he bears, it hacks and tears; 

'Tis formed of an earth-fast flint; \ 
No armour of knight, though ever so wight, 

Can bear its deadly dint. 

* Widdershins. — German, widdersins. A di- 
rection contrary to the course of the sun ; from 
left, namely, to right. — Scott. 

\ Streamers — northern lights. 

% An earth-fast stone, or an insulated stone, 
inclosed in a bed of earth, is supposed to possess 
peculiar properties. It is frequently applied to 
sprains and bruises, and used to dissipate swell- 
ings ; but its blow is reckoned uncommonly 
severe. — Scott. 



" No danger he fears, for a charm'd sword he 
wears ; 

Of adderstone the hilt ; § 
No Tynedale knight had ever such might, 

But his heart-blocd was spilt." 

"In my plume is seen the holly green, 
With the leaves of the rowan tree ; |f 

And my casque of sand, by a mermaid's hand, 
Was formed beneath the sea. 

" Then, Margaret dear, have thou no fear 

That bodes no ill to me, 
Though never a knight, by mortal might, 

Could match his gramarye."— 

Then forward bound both horse and hound. 

And rattle o'er the vale ; 
As the wintry breeze, through leafless trees, 

Drives on the pattering hail. 

Behind their course the English felte 

In deepening blue retire ; 
Till soon before them boldly swells 

The muir of dun Redswire. 

And when they reached the Redswire high, 

Soft beam'd the rising sun; 
But formless shadows seemed to fly 

Along the muir-land dun. 

And when he reached the Redswire high, 

His bugle Keeldar blew ; 
And round did float, with clamorous note 

And scream, the hoarse curlew. 

The next blast that young Keeldar blew, 

The wind grew deadly still ; 
But the sleek fern, with fingery leaves, 

Waved wildly o'er the hill. 

§ The adderstone, among the Scottish pea- 
santry, is held in almost as high veneration, as, 
among the Gauls, the ovum anguinum, described 
by Pliny.— Natural History, ]. xxix. c. 3. The 
name is applied to celts, and other round perfo- 
rated stones. The vulgar suppose them to be 
perforated by the stings of adders. — Scdt. 

|| The rowan tree, or mountain ash, is still 
used by the peasantry, to avert the effects of 
charms and witchcraft. An inferior degree of 
the same influence is supposed to reside in many 
evergreens ; as the holly and the bay. With the 
■ leaves of the bay, the English and We!ch pea- 






^W£f7<2K 









SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



\S2 









m 



§s) 






The third blast that young Keeldar blew, 

Still stood the limber fern , 
And a Wee Man, of swarthy hue, 

Up started by a cairn. 

His russet weeds were brown as heath, 

That clothes the upland fell ; 
And the hair of his head was frizzly red, 

As the purple heather bell. 

An urchin,* clad in prickles red, 

Clung cowering to his arm ; 
The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled, 

As struck by Fairy charm. 

" Why rises high the stag-hound's cry, 
Where stag-hound ne'er should be ? 

Why wakes that horn the silent morn, 
Without the leave of me ?" 

" Brown dwarf, that o'er the muirland strays, 

Thy name to Keeldar tell!" — 
" The Brown Man of the Muirs, who stays 

Beneath the heather bell. 

" 'Tis sweet, beneath the heather- bell, 

To live in autumn brown ; 
And sweet to hear the lav'rocks swell 

Far far from tower and town. 

"But woe betide the shrilling horn, 

The chace's surly cheer '. 
And ever that hunter is forlorn, 

Whom first at morn I hear." 

Says, " Weal nor woe, nor friend nor foe, 

In thee we hope nor dread." 
But, ere the bugles green could blow, 

The Wee Brown Man had fled. 

And onward, onward, hound and horse, 
Young Keeldar's band have gone ; 

And soon they wheel, in rapid course, 
Around the Keeldar Stone. 

Green vervain round its base did creep, 

A powerful seed that bore ; 
•ind oft, of yore, its channels deep 

Were stained with human gore. 



Bants were lately accustomed to adorn their 
doors at midsummer. — Vide Brand's Vulgar 
A ntiquities. — Scolt. 
■'•' Urchin— hedge-hog. 



^ And still, when blood-drops, clotted thin, 
Hang the grey moss upon, 
The spirit murmurs from within, 
And shakes the rocking stone. {■ 

Around, around, young Keeldar wound, 
And called, in scornful tone, 

With him to pass the barrier ground, 
The Spirit of the Stone. 

The rude crag rocked ; " I come for death, 

1 come to work thy woe !" 
And 'twas the Brown Man of the Heath, 

That murmured from below. 

But onward, onward, Keeldar past, 

Swift as the winter wind, 
When, hovering on the driving blast, 

The snow-flakes fall behind. 

They passed the muir of berries blae, 

The stone cross on the lee ; 
They reached the green, the bonnie brae, 

Beneath the birchen tree. 

This is the bonnie brae, the green, 

Yet sacred to the brave, 
Yvliere still of ancient size, is seen 

Uigantic Keeldar's grave. 



f The rocking stone, commonly reckoned a 
Druidical monument, has always been held in su- 
perstitious veneration by the people. The popular 
opinion, which supposes them to be inhabited by 
a spirit, coincides with that of the ancient Ice- 
landers, who worshipped the daemons, which 
they believed to inhabit great stones. It is re- 
lated in the Kristni Saga, chap. 2, that the first 
Icelandic bishop, by chaunting a hymn over one 
of these sacred stones, immediately after his 
arrival in the island, split it, expelled the spirit, 
and converted its worshippers to Christianity. 
The herb vervain, revered by the Druids, was 
also reckoned a powerful charm by the common 
people; and the author recollects a popular 
rhyme, supposed to be addressed to a young 
woman by the devil, who attempted to seduce 
her in the shape of a handsome young man : 



By his repugnance to these sacred plants, his 
^ mistress discovered the cloven foot.— ScoU. 






FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



495 



The lonely shepherd loves to mark 

The daisy springing fair, 
Where weeps the birch of silver bark, 

With long dishevelled hair. 

The grave is green, and round is spread 

The curling lady-fern ; 
That fatal day the mould was red, 

Ino moss was on the cairn. 

And next they passed the chapel there ; 

The holy ground was by, 
Where many a stone is sculptured fair, 

To mark where warriors lie. 

And here, beside the mountain flood, 

A massy castle frown'd, 
Since first the Pictish race in blood ; 

The haunted pile did found. 

The restless stream its rocky base 

Assails with ceaseless din ; 
And many a troubled spirit strays 

The dungeons dark within. 

Soon from the lofty tower there hied 

A knight across the vale ; 
" J grett your master well," he cried, 

" From Soulis of Liddesdale. 

" He heard your bugle's echoing call, 
In his green garden bower; 

And bids you to his festive hall, 
Within his ancient tower." 

Young Keeldar called his hunter train ; 

" For doubtful cheer prepare ! 
And, as you open force disdain, 

Of secret guile beware. 



* Castles remarkable for size, strength, and 
antiquity, are, by the common people, common- 
ly attributed to the Picts, or Pechs, who are not 
supposed to have trusted solely to their skill in 
masonry, in constructing these edifices, but are 
believed to have bathed the foundation-stone 
with human blood, in order to propitiate the 
spirit of the soil. Similar to this is the Gaelic 
tradition, according to which St. Columba is 
supposed to have been forced to bury St. Oran 
alive, beneath the foundation of his monastery, 
in order to propitiate the spirits of the soil, wiio 
demolished by night what was built during the 
day. — Scott. 






" 'Twas here for Mangcrton's brave lord 

A bloody feast was set, 
Who, weetless, at the festal board, 

The bull's broad frontlet met. 

" Then ever, at uncourteous feast, 

Keep every man his brand ; 
And, as you 'mid his friends are placed, 

Range on the better hand. 

" And, if the bull's ill omen'd headf 

Appear to grace the feast, 
Your whingers, with unerring speed, 

Plunge in each neighbour's breast." — 

In Hermitage they sat at dine, 

In pomp and proud array; 
And oft they filled the blood-red wine, 

While merry minstrels play. 



And many a hunting song they sung, 

And song of game and glee; 
Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue, 

" Of Scotland's luve and lee.":? 



f To present a bull's head before a person at a 
feast, was, in the ancient turbulent times of 
Scotland, a common signal for his assassination. 
Thus, Lindsay of Pitscottie relates in his His- 
tory, p. 17, that " efter the dinner was endit, 
once alle the delicate courses taken away, the 
chancellor (Sir William Crichton) presentit the 
bullis head befoir the Earle of Douglas, in signe 
and toaken of condemnation to the death." 

Scott. 

$ The most ancient Scottish song known is 
that which is here alluded to, and is thus given 
by Wintoun, in his Chroiiykil, vol. I. p. 401 : — 

Quhen Alysandyr our kyng wes dede, 

That Scotland led in luve and le, 
Away wes sons of ale and brede, 

Ol wyne and wax, of gamyu and gle : 

Oure gold wes changyd into lede, 

Cryst, borne into virgynyte, 
Succour Scotland and reuiede, 

That Btad is in perplezyte. 

That alluded to in the following verse, is a 
wild fanciful popular tale of enchantment, 
termed " The Black Bull of Noroway." The 
author is inclined to believe it the same story 
with the romance of the " Three Futtit Dog of 
Noroway," the title of which is mentioned in the 
Com play nt of Scotland.— Scott. 







• -<: 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



rmt'i 



To wilder measm-es next they turn 

" The Black Black Bull of Noroway !" 

Sudden the tapers cease to burn, 
The minstrels cease to play. 

Each hunter bold, of Keeldar's train, 

Sat an enchanted man ; 
"For cold as ice, through every vein, 

The freezing life-blood ran. 

Each rigid hand the whinger wrung, 

Each gazed with glaring eye ; 
But Keeldar from the table sprung, 

Unharmed by gramarye. 

He burst the doors ; the roofs resound ; 

With yells the castle rung; 
Before him, with a sudden bound, 

His favourite blood-hound sprung. 

Ere he could pass, the door was barr'd; 

And, grating hai-sh from under, 
With creaking, jarring noise, was heard 

A sound like distant thunder. 

The iron clash, the grinding sound, 
Announce the dire sword-mill;* 

The piteous howlings of the hound 
The dreadful dungeon fill. 

With breath drawn in, the murderous crow 
Stood listening to the yell; 
| And greater still their wonder grew, 
As on their ear it fell. 

They listen 'd for a human shriek 

Amid the jarring sound; 
They only heard in echoes weak, 

The murmurs of the hound*. 

The death-bell rung, and wide were flung 

The castle gates amain ; 
While hurry out the armed rout, 

And marshal on the plain. 



m 



y&* 



* The author is unable to produce any au- 
thority that the execrable machine, the sword - 
mill, so well known on the continent, was ever 
employed in Scotland ; but he believes the ves- 
tiges of something very similar have been dis- 
covered in the ruins of old castles.— Scott. 






Ah ! ne'er before in Border feud 

Was seen so dire a fray ! 
Through glittering lances Keeldar hewed 

A red corse -pave n way. 

His helmet, formed of mermaid sand, 

No lethal brand could dint ; 
No other arms could e'er withstand 

The axe of earth-fast flint. 

In Keeldar's plume the holly green, 

And rowan leaves, nod on, 
And vain Lord Soulis's sword was seen, 

Though the hilt was adderstone. 

Then up the Wee Brown Man he rose, 

By Soulis of Liddesdale ; 
" In vain," he said, " a thousand blows 

Assail the charmed mail. 

" In vain by land your arrows glide, 

In vain your falchions gleam — 
No spell can stay the living tide,f 

Or charm the rushing stream." 

And now, young Keeldar reached the stream. 

Above the foamy lin ; 
The Border lances round him gleam, 

And force the warrior in. 

The holly floated to the side, 

And the leaf of the rowan pale . 

Alas ! no spell could charm the tide, 
Nor the lance of Liddesdale. 

Swift was the Cout o' Keeldar's course, 

Along the lily lee ; 
But home came never hound nor horse, 

And never home came he. 

Where weeps the birch with branches green, 

Without the holy ground, 
Between two old gray stones is seen 

The warrior's ridgy mound. 

And the hunters bold, of Keeldar's train, 

Within yon castle's wall, 
In deadly sleep must aye remain, 

Till the ruined towers down fall. 



f That no species of magic had any effect over 
a running stream, was a common opinion 
among the vulgar, and is alluded to in Burns'a 
admirable tale of Tarn o' Shanter.— Scott. 






^ach in his hunter's garb array'd, 

Each holds his bugle horn ; 
Their keen hounds at their feet are laid, 

That ne'er shall wake the morn. 



£$)£ Hpiut d tj)$ 



[Modern Ballad. — James Hogg. J 

** dearest Marjory, stay at home, 
For dark 's the gate you hare to go ; 

And there 's a inaike adown the glen, 
Hath frighten'd me and many moe. 

" His legs are like two pillars tall, 
And Btill and stalwart is his stride ; 

His face is rounder nor the moon, 

And, och, his mouth is awesome wide 1 

Q/>s>) ** I saw him stand, the other night, 

Yclothed in his grizly shroud ; 
£yo\ With one foot on a shadow placed, 
S-^^/ The other on a misty cloud. 

Q/S " -A-s far asunder were his limbs, 

On the first story of the air, 
A ship could have sail'd through between, 
With all her colours flying fair. 

" He nodded his head against the heaven, 
s|^& As if in reverend mockerye ; 

Then fauldit his arms upon his breast, 
And aye he shook his beard at me. 

" And he pointed to my Marjory's cot, 
And by his motion seem'd to say, 

' In yon sweet home go seek thy lot, 
For there thine earthly lot 1 lay.' 

" My very heart it quaked for dread, 
And turn'd as cold as beryl stone, 

And the moudies cheipit below the swaird, 
For fear their little souls were gone. 

'* The cushat and the corbie craw 
Fled to the highest mountain height ; 

And the little birdies tried the same, 
But fell down on the earth with fright. 



" But there was ane shameful heronshew, 
Was sitting by the plashy shore, 

With meagre eyne watching powheads, 
And other fishes, less or more ; 

" But when she saw that grizly sight 
Stand on the billow of the wind ; 

Grace, as she flapper'd and she flew, 
And left a streamoury track behind ! 

"And aye she rair'd as she were wud, 

For utter terror and dismay ; 
And left a skelloch on the clud,— 

I took it for the milky way. 

" Had I not seen that hideous sight, 
What I had done I could not say ; 

But at that heron's horrid fright, 
I'll laugh until my dying day. 

" Then, dearest Marjory, stay at home, 
And rather court a blink with mo ; 

For, gin you see that awesome sight, 
Yourself again you will never be." 

" But I have made a tryst this night, 
I may not break, if take my life ; 

So I will run my risk and go : " 

With maiden, spirits have no strife. 

" Have you not heard, Sir Dominie, 
That face of virgin bears a charm, 

And neither ghaist, nor man, nor beast, 
Have any power to do her harm ?" 

" Yes, there is one, sweet Marjorye, 

Will stand thy friend in darksome even j 

For virgin beauty is on earth 

The brightest type we have of heaven. 

" The colly cowers upon the swaird, 
To kiss her foot with kindly eye ; 

The maskis will not move his tongue, 
But wag his tail, if she pass by ; 

" The adder hath not power to stang ; 

The slow-worm's harmless as an eel ; 
The burly toad, the ask, and snake, 

Cannot so much as wound her heel. 

" The angels love to see her good, 

And watch her ways in bower and hall j 

The devils pay her some respect, 

And God loves her,— that is best of all." 




(S 



" Then, sooth, 111 take my chance, and wend 
To keep my tryst, whate'er may be j 

"Why should a virtuous maiden dread 
The tale of a crazy Dominie ?" 

" Ochon, ochon, dear Marjorye, 
But of your virtue you are vain ! 

Tet you are in a wondrous haste, 
In running into toil and pain. 

" For maiden's virtue, at the best, 

(May He that made her kind, forgive her !) 

Is like the blue-bell of the waste, 

Sweet, sweet a while, and gone for ever ! 

" It is like what maiden much admires, — 

A bruckle 6et of china store ; 
But one false Btumble, start, or step, 

And down it falls for evermore ! 

" It is like the florid Eden rose, 
That perisheth without recalling ; 

And aye the lovelier that it grows, 
It wears the nearer to the falling. 

" It i3 like the flaunting morning sky, 
That spreads its blushes far before ; 

But plash there comes a storm of rain, 
And all its glory then is o'er. 

" Then be not proud, sweet Marjorye, 
Of that which hath no sure abode : 

Man little knows what lurks within ; 
The heart is only known to God." 

But Marjory smiled a willsome smile, 
And drew her frock up to her knee ; 

And lightly down the glen she flew, 

Though the tear stood in the Dominie's e'e. 

She had not gone a mile but ane, 

Quhill up there starts a droichel man, 

And he lookit ruefully in her face, 

And says, " Fair maid, where be you gaun ?" 

" I am gaun to meet mine own true love, 
So, Maister Brownie, say your rede, 

1 know you have not power to hurt 
One single hair of virgin's head." 

(C «M The Brownie gave a gousty laugh, 

And said, " What wisdom you do lack ! 
\j g~^l For, if you reach your own true love, 
• < J * rnay have P ower when you come back !" 



A Then next she met an eldrin dame, 
A weiidly witch I wot was she ; 
For though she wore a human face, 
It was a grousome sight to see ; 

" Stay, pretty maid, what is your haste ? 

Come, speak with me before you go ; 
For I have news to tell to you, 

"Will make your ver> heart to glow : 

<( You claim that virgins have a charm, 
That holds the universe at bay ; 

Ala3 ! poor fool, to snare and harm, 
There is none so liable as they. 

" It is love that lifts up woman's soul, 
And gives her eyes a heavenly ; 

Then, would you be a blessed thing, 
Indulge in love without delay. 

" You go to meet your own true love, 
I know it well a3 well can be ; 

But, or you pass a bowshot on, 

You will meet ane thrice as good as he. 

" And he will press your lily hand, 
And he will kiss your cheek and chin, 

And you must go to bower with him, 
For he is the youth your love must win. 

" And you must do what he desires, 

And great good fortune you shall find ; 

But when you reach your own true love, 
Keep close your secret in your mind." 

Away went Marj ory, and away 

With lighter step and blither smile; 

That night to meet her own true love, 
She would have gane a thousand mile. 

She had not pass'd a bowshot on 
Until a youth, in manly trim, 

Came up and press'd the comely May 
To turn into a bower with him. 

He promised her a gown of silk, 

A mantle of the crarnosye, 
And chain of gold about her neck, 

For one hour of her company*:. 

He took her lily hand in his, 

And kiss'd it with such fervencye. 

That the poor May began to blush, 
And durst not lift her modest e'e. 



§ICSte^S2fe 












Her little heart began to beat. 

And flutter most disquietlye, 
She lookit east, she lookit west, 

And all to see what she could see. 

She lookit up to heaven aboon, 

Though scarcely knowing how or why ; 
She heaved a sigh — the day was won, 

And bright resolve beam'd in her eye. 

The first stern that she look'd upon, 
A tear stood on its brow for shame ; 

It drappit on the floor of heaven, 
And aye its blushes went and came. 

Then Marjory, in a moment thought, 
That blessed angels might her see; 

And often said within her heart, 

" Do God's own planets blush for me ? 

"* That they shall never do again — 
Leal virtue still shall be my guide. — 

Thou stranger youth, pass on thy way, 
With thee I will not turn aside. 

" The Angel of the Glen is wroth, 

And where shall maiden find remede ? 

See what a hideous canopy 

He is spreading high above our head 1" 

" Take thou no dread, sweet Marjorye; 

It is love's own curtain spread on high ; 
A timeous veil for maiden's blush, 

Yon little crumb-cloth of the sky. 

" All the good angels take delight 
Sweet woman's happiness to see; 

And where could thine be so complete 
As in the bower this night with me ?" 

Poor Marjory durst no answer make, 
But stood as meek as captive dove ; 

Her trust fix'd on her Maker kind, — 
Her eyes upon the heaven above. 

That wicked wight (for sure no youth, 
But Demon of the Glen was he) 

Had no more power, but sped away, 
And left the maiden on her knee. 

Then, all you virgins sweet and young, 
When the first whisj erings of sin 

Begin to hanker on your minds, 
Or steal into the soul within, 



4& Keep aye the eyes on heaven aboon, 
Both of your body and your mind ; 
For in the strength of God alone, 

A woman's weakness strength shall find. 

And when you go to bower or dell, 
And know no human eye can see', 

Think of an eye that never sleeps, 
And angels weeping over thee. 

For man is but a selfish maike, 
And little recks of maiden's woe, 

And all his pride is to advise 

The gate she's far ower apt to go. 

Away went bonnis Marjorye, 

With all her blossoms in the blight; 

She had not gone a bowshot on, 
Before she saw an avvsome sight : 

. It was ane maike of monstrous might, 
The terror of the sons of men ; 
That by Sir Dominie was hight, 
The Giant Spirit of the Gleu. 

His make was like a moonshine cloud 
That fill'd the glen with human form ; 

With his gray locks he brush'd the heaven 
And shook them far aboon the storm ; 

And gurly, gurly was his look, 

From eyne that seem'd two borels blue, 

And shaggy was his silver beard 

That down the air in streamers flew. 

Oh, but that maid was hard bested, 
And mazed and modderit in dismay 1 

For both the guests of heaven and hell 
Seem'd her fond passage to belay. 

When the Great Spirit saw her dread, 
And that she wist not what to say, 

His face assum'd a milder shade, 
Like midnight melting into day. 

"Poor wayward, artless, aimless thing, 
Where art thou going, canst thou tell ?" 

The Spirit said,—" Is it thy will 
To run with open eyne to hell ? 

" I am the guardian of this glen, 
And 'tis my suvercign joy to see 

The wicked man run on in sin, 

Rank, ruth ess, gaunt, and greedily?; 



K* 







5(jO SCOTTISE 

" But still to guard the virtuous beart 
From paths of danger and of woe, 

Shall be my earnest, dearest part : 

Then tell me, dame, where dost thou go ?" 

I go to meet mine ain dear love, 
True happiness with him to seek, — 
The comeliest and kindest youth 
That ever kiss'd a maiden's cheek." 

The Spirit shook his silver hair, 

That stream'd like sunbeam through the rain; 
But there was pity in his eyne, 

Though mingled with a mild disdain. 

He whipp'd the maid up in his arms 

As I would lift a trivial toy — 
Quod he, " The upshot thou shalt see 

Of this most pure and virtuous joy 1" 

He took two strides, he took but two, 
Although ane mile it seem'd to be, 

And show'd the maid her own true love, 
With maiden weeping at his knee ; 

And, oh ! that maiden's heart was sore, 
For still with tears she wet his feet ; 

But then he mock'd and jeer'd the more, 
"With threats, and language most unmeet. 

fch« cried, " Oh, dear and cruel youth, 
Think of the love you vow'd to me, 

And all the joys that we have proved, 
Beneath the bield of birken tree ! 

" Since never maid hath loved like me, 
Leave me not to the world's sharp scorn ; 

By your dear hand I'll rather die 
Than live forsaken and forlorn !" 

" As thou hast said so shalt thou dree," 
Said this most cursed and cruel hind ; 

" For I must meet ane May this night, 
Whom I love best of womankind ; 

'* So I'll let forth thy wicked blood, 
And neither daunt, nor rue the deed, 

For thou art lo6t to grace and good, 
And ruin'd beyond all remede." 

She open'd up her snowy breast, 
And aye the tear blinded her e'e ; 

Now take, now take mine harmless life, 
All guiltless but for loving thee I" 





Then he took out a deadly blade, 
And drew it from its bloody sheath, 

Then laid his hand upon her eyne, 

To blind them from the stroke of death. 

Then, straight to pierce her broken heart, 
He raised his ruthless hand on high ; 

But Marjory utter'd shriek so loud, 
It made the monster start and fly. 

" Now, maiden," said the mighty Shade, 
" Thou see'st what dangers waited thee ; 

Thou see'st what snares for thee were laid, 
All underneath the greenwood tree. 

" Yet straight on ruin wouldst thou run ! 

What think'st thou of thy lover meek, — 
The comeliest and the kindest youth 

That ever kiss'd a maiden's cheek ?" 

Then sore, sore did poor Marjory weep 

And cried, " This world's a world of woe, 

A place of sin, of snare, and gin ; 

Alas ! what shall poor woman do ?" 

" Let woman trust in Heaven high, 
And be all ventures rash abjured; 

And never trust herself with man, 
Till of his virtue well assured." 

The Spirit turn'd him round about, 
And up the glen he strode amain, 

Quhill his white hair along the heaven 
Stream'd like the comet's fiery train. 

High as the eagle's morning flight, 
And swift as is his cloudy way, 

He bore that maiden through the night, 
Enswathed in wonder and dismay ; 

And he flang her in the Dominie's bed,— 
Ane good soft bed as bed could be ! 

And when the Dominie came home, 
Ane richt astounded man was he. 

Quod he, " My dear sweet Marjorye, 
My best beloved and dawted dame, 

You are welcome to my be I and board, 
And this brave house to be thine hame: 

" But not till we in holy church 
Be bound, never to loose again ; 

And then I will love you as my life, 
And long as life and breath remain." 




Then the Dominie took her to holy church, 
And wed her with a gowden ring ; 

And he was that day a joyful man, 
And happier nor a crowned king. 

And more unsmirchit happiness 
Ne'er to an earthly pair was given ; 

And all the days they spent on earth, 
They spent in thankfulness to Heaven. 

Now, maidens dear, in greenwood shaw, 
Ere you make trystes with flattering men, 

Think of the sights poor Marjory saw, 
And the Great Spirit of the Glen. 



%$t %mt §miyi« 



[This very beautiful piece is written by Mr, 
William Oliver, Langraw, Roxburghshire, 
author of " Eight Months in Illinois." It is 
here printed for the first time.] 

These was a voice heard on the fell, 
Crying so 6adly, " All are gone, 

And I must bid this earth farewell ; 

Oh why should I stay here alone? 

Ealie, ealie, oh farewell ! 

** I've sought the brake, I've sought the hill, 
The haunted glen, and swelling river ; 

I've sought the fountain, and the rill, 
And all are left, and left for ever. 
Ealie, &e. 

"" Where'er the sunbeam tints the spray, 
That rises o'er the falling waters, 

I've, needless, roamed the livelong day, 
In search of some of Eaerie's daughters. 
Ealie, &c. 

** Each heather-bell, each budding flower, 
That blooms in wold, or grassy lea, 

Each bosky shaw, each leafy bower, 

Is tenantless by all, save me. 

Ealie, &e. 

" No more now, through the moonlit night, 
With tinkling bells, and sound of mirth, 

We hie, and scare the peasant wight, 
With strains by far too sweet fur earth. 
Ealie, &c. 




FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



" The new-made mother need not fear, 
To leave ajar the cottage door; 

Alas ! we never shall come near, 

To change the mortal's infant more. 
Ealie, &c. 

*' No more, when as the eddying wind 
Shall whirl the autumn leaves in air, 

Shall there be dread, that elfin fiend, 
Or troop of wandering fays are there. 
Ealie, &c. 

""In palaces beneath the lake, 
Within the rock, or grassy hill, 

No more the sounds of mirth we make, 
But all are silent, sad, and still. 
Ealie, &c. 

" Farewell the ring, where, through the 
dance, 
In winding maze, we deftly flew, 
Whilst flowing hair, and dress, would glance 
With sparkling gems of moonlit dew. 
Ealie, &c. 

<( We were ere mortals had their birth, 
And long have watched their growing day; 

The light now beams upon the earth, 
And warns us that we must away. 
Ealie, &c. 

** Oh where are Thor and Wodin now ? 

Where Elfin sprite and Duergar gone ? 
The great are fallen ; we needs must bow, 

I may not stay, not even alone. 
Ealie, &c. 

** Ah me, the wandering summer broeze 
Shall bear our sighs, where'er it goes, 

Or floating 'mid the leafy trees, 
Or stealing odours from the rose. 
Ealie, &c. 



" These sighs, unknown shall touch the heart , pjg 
And with a secret language speak ; 

To joy a soothing care impart ; 

Add tears to smiles on beauty's cheek. 
Ealie, &c. 

" Farewell, farewell, for I must go 
To other realms, to other spheres ; 

This mortal earth I leave with wo, 

With grief, with wailing, and with tears.'* j 
Ealie, &c. 




W§M 






m 



[Modern Ballad. — Alexander Laing. — Her© 
printed for the first time. — In the notes to 
Collins's " Ode on the Popular Superstitions 
of the Highlands" it is said that " The Brow- 
nie formed a class of beings, distinct in habit 
and disposition from the freakish and mis- 
chievous elves or fairies. In the day time, he 
lurked in remote recesses of the old houses which 
he delighted to haunt ; and in the night sedu- 
lously employed himself in discharging any labo- 
rious task which he thought might be acceptable 
to the family, to whose service he had devoted 
himself;" — and service similar to that narrated 
in this ballad was of very frequent occurrence. 
It is told of a Brownie, that on a certain occa- 
sion he had undertaken to gather the sheep into 
the bught by an early hour, and so zealously did 
he perform his task, that not only was there not 
one sheep left on the hill, but he had also col- 
lected a number of hares, which were found 
fairly penned along with them ; upon being con- 
gratulated on his extraordinary success, he ex- 
claimed, " confound thae wee grae anes, they 
cost me mair trouble than a' the lave o' them." 
So disinterested was Brownie in his attachment, 
that any offer of reward, particularly of food or 
clothing, he invariably reckoned a hint from the 
family that they wished to dispense with his ser- 
vices, which he immediately transferred to ano- 
ther. He has likewise been known to have aban- 
doned a beloved haunt, when often disturbed in 
his places of daily retirement, or when any ob- 
servations were made on his appearance, which 
was " meagre, shaggy, and wild." It is there- 
fore very probable, as we have no later tradition 
respecting the Brownie of the ballad, that the 
question put to him by the sage femme at the 
door of the farm-house, occasioned his departure 
from his favourite Fearnden for ever.] 



Thair livit ane man on Norinsyde, 
Whan Jamis helde his aine ; 
T y^J He had ane maylen faire and wyde, 

And servants nyne or tene — 



(fa Whan thair was come to threshe or diehte. 
Or barne or byre to clene, 
He had ane bizzy houre at nicht, 
Atweene the twall and ane ; 

And thouch the sna' was never so deip 3 

And never so weet the raine, 
He ran ane errant in a wheip, 

The Brownie of Fearnden ! 

Ae nicht the gudewyfe of the house 

Fell sicke as sicke coud be, 
And for the skilly mammy -wyfe, 

She wan tit them to gae ; 

The nicht was darke, and never a spark* 

Wald venture doun the glen, 
For feir that he micht heir or see 

The Brownie of Fearnden 1 

But Brownie was na far awa', 

For weil he heard the stryfe ; 
And ablynis thocht, as weil he saw, 

They sune wald tyne the wyfe : 

He affe and mountis the ridying mear a 
And throch the winde and raine ; 

And sune was at the skilly wyfe*3, 
Wha livit owre the den ! 

He pullit the sneke, and out he spak', 

That she micht bettere heir, 
" Thair is a mothere wald gyve byrth, 

But hasna strength© to beir ; 

ryse ! ryse ! and hape you weil, 

To keip you fra the raine" — 
" Whaur do you want me ?" quoth the wj.'o, 

" O whaur but owre the den !" 

Whan bay the waur mountit on the mear> 

And ridyng up the glen ; 
'* O watt ye laddy," quoth the wyfe, 

" Gyn we be neir the den .■» 

" Are we com neir the den?" she said ; 

" Just wysht ye fule!" quoth he, 
' For waure than ye ha'e in your armis, 
This nicht ye wynna see 1" 



" What maks your een sae wan ?" 
** I've wandert mony a weary foote, 
And unko sichtis I've seen J 

" But mynd the wyfe, and mynd the wean, 

And see that all gae richt ; 
And 1 wyll tak' you hame agen, 

Befoir the mornyng licht. 

" And gyn they speir wha brocht you heir, 
Cause they waur scaunte of men — 

Even tell them that ye rade ahint 
The Brownie of Fearnden !" 



®jjje ®aM=afajiag, 



[The woman, in whose character these lines 
are written, supposes her child to be stolen by a 
lairy. The ballad here given is translated from 
the German, by John Anster, Esq.] 

The summer sun was sinking 

With a mild light calm and mellow, 

It shone on my little boy's bonnie cheeks, 
And his loose locks of yellow. 

The robin was singing sweetly, 

And his song was sad and tender ; 

And my little boy's eyes, while he heard the 
song, 
Smiled with a sweet soft splendour. 

5 K$^J My little boy lay on my bosom, 

While his soul the song was quaffing, 
P=_/ The joy of his soul had tinged his cheek, 

And his heart and his eye were laughing. 

)<?jV' I sat alone in my cottage, 

IJp^J The midnight needle plying; 

I feared for my child, for the rush's light 
In the socket now was dying. 

There came a hand to my lonely latch, 
|_^eA Like the wind at midnight moaning; 

f^s I knelt to pray, but rose again, 

Tor I heard my little boy groaning. «? 

P 



I cross'd my brow, and I cross'd my breast, 
But that night my child departed ; 

They left a weakling in his stead, 
And I am broken-hearted. 

Oh ! it cannot be my own sweet boy, 
For his eyes are dim and hollow, 

My little boy is gone to God, 

And his mother soon will follow. 

The dir^e for the dead will be sung for me, 
And the mass be chanted meetly; 

And I will sleep with my little boy, 
In the moonlight churchyard sweetly. 



9 



[This piece is by the Rev. Dr. Jamieson, 
author of the Scottish Dictionary. It first ap- 
peared in the Border Minstrelsy. We give it a 
place here as the Water Kelpie belongs to the 
genus Fairy. 

" The principal design of the author of thia 
piece," says Sir Walter, "was to give a speci- 
men of Scottish writing, more nearly approach- 
ing to the classical compositions of our ancient 
bards, than that which has been generally fol- 
lowed for seventy or eighty years past. As the 
poem is descriptive of the superstitions of the 
vulgar, in the county of Angus, the scene is laid 
on the banks of South Esk, near the castle of 
Inverquharity, about five miles north from. 
Forfar."] 

Aft, owre the bent, with heather blent, 
And throw the forest brown, 

1 tread the path to yon green strath, 
Quhare brae-born Esk rins down. 

Its banks alang, quhilk hazels thrang, 
Quhare sweet-sair'd hawthorns blow, 

I lufe to stray, and view the play 
Of fleckit scules below. 

Ae summer e'en, upon the green, 

I laid me down to gaze ; 
The place right nigh, quhare Carity 

His humble tribute pays : 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



C^ 






(Ml) 



r: 



& 



m 



And Prosen proud, with rippet loud, 

Cums ravin* frae his glen ; 
As gin he micht auld Esk affricht, 

And drive him back agen. 

An ancient tour appear»t to lour 

Athort the neibourin plain, 
Quhais chieftain bauld, in times of auld, 

The kintrie call't his ain. 

Its honours cow't, its now forhow't, 

And left the houlat's prey ; 
Its skuggin' wude, aboon the flude, 

With gloom owrespreads the day. 

A dreary shade the castle spread, 

And mirker grew the lift ; 
The eroonin' kie the byre drew nigh, 

The darger left his thrift. 

The lavrock shill on erd was still, 

The westlin wind fell loun j 
The fisher's houp forgat to loup, * 

And aw for rest made boun. f 

I seem't to sloom, quhan throw the gloom 

I saw the river shak', 
And heard a whush alangis it rush, 

Gart aw my members quak' ; 

Syne, in a stound, the pool profound 

To cleave in twain appear'd ; 
And huly throw the frichtsom how 

His form a gaist uprear'd.i 

He rashes bare, and seggs, for hair, 
Quhare ramper-eels entwin'd ; 

Of filthy gar his e'e-brees war, 
With esks and horse -gells lin'd. 



* The fishes, the hope of the angler, no more 
rose to the fly. — Jamieson. 

f All commonly occurs in our old writers. 
But aw is here used, as corresponding with the 
general pronunciation in Scotland ; especially 
as it has the authority of Dunbar, in his " La- 
ment for the Deth of the Makaris." — Jamieson. 

% It is believed in Angus, that the spirit of the 
waters appears sometimes as a man, with a very 
frightful aspect ; and, at other times, as a horse. 
The description, here given, must therefore be 
viewed as the offspring of fancy. All that can 
be said for it is, that such attributes are selected 
as are appropriate to the scenery. — Jamieson. 



■ih And for his een, with dowie sheen, 
Twa huge horse-mussels glar'd :§ 
From his wide mow a torrent flew, 
And soupt his reedy beard. 

Twa slauky stanes seemit his spule-banee; 

His briskit braid, a whin ; 
Ilk rib sae bare, a skelvy skair ; 

Ilk arm a monstrous fin. 

He frae the wame a fish became. 

With shells aw coverit owre : 
And for his tail, the grislie whale 

Could nevir match its pow'r. 

With dreddour I, quhan he drew nigh.. 

Had maistly swarfit outricht : 
Less fleyit at lenth I gatherit atrenth, 

And speirt quhat was this wicht. 

Syne thrice he shook his fearsum bouk, 

And thrice he snockerit loud ; 
From ilka e'e the fire-flauchts flee, 

And flash alangis the flude. 

/ V 
Quhan words he found, their elriteh sound 

Was like the norlan blast", 

Frae yon deep glack, at Catia's back,|j 

That skeegs the dark-brown waste. 

The troublit pool conveyit the gowl 

Down to yon echoin rock ; 
And to his maik, with wilsum skraik, 

Ilk bird its terror spoke. 

The trout, the par, now here, now thare, 

As in a widdrim bang ; 
The gerron gend gaif sic a stend, 

As on the yird him flang : 

And down the stream, like levin's gleam, 

The fleggit salmond flew ; 
The ottar yap his prey let drap, 

And to his hiddils drew. 




§ South Esk abounds with the fresh-water 
oyster, Tulgarly called the horse-mussel ; and, in U- 
former times, a pearl fishery was carried on (Vjw 
here to considerable extent. — Jamieson. 

|| Part of the Grampian mountains. Caila 
appears as a promontory, jutting out from the 
principal ridge towards the plain. The Esk, if I ; 
recollect right, issues from behind it — Jamieson. 



" Vile droich," he said, " art nocht afraid 

Thy mortal life to tyne ?* 
How dar'st thou seik with me to speik, 

Sae far aboon thy line ? 

" Yet sen thou hast thai limits past, 

That sinder sprites frae men, 
Thy life I'll spare, and aw declare, 

That worms like thee may ken. 

" In kintries nar, and distant far, 

Is my renoun propall't ; 
As is the leid, my name ye'U reid, 

But here I'm Kelpie call't. 

" The strypes and burns, throw aw their 
turns, 

As weel's the waters wide, 
My laws obey, thair spring-heads frae, 

Doun till the salt sea tide. 

" Like 6ome wild staig, I aft stravaig, 

And scamper on the wave : 
Quha with a bit my mow can fit, 

May gar me be his slave. 

" To him I'll wirk, baith morn and mirk, 

Quhile he has wark to do ; 
Gin tent he tak' I do nae shak' 

His bridle frae my mow.f 

" Quhan Murphy's laird his biggin' rear'd, 
I carryit aw the stanes ; 



* The vulgar idea is, that a spirit, however 
frequently it appear, will not speak, unless pre- 
viously addressed. It is, however, at the same 
time believed, that the person, who ventures to 
speak to a ghost, forfeits his life, and will soon 
lose it, in consequence of his presumption. 

Jamieson. 
f The popular tradition is here faithfully de- 
scribed ; and, strange to tell ! has not yet lost 
all credit. In the following verses, the principal 
articles of the vulgar creed in Angus, with 
respect to this supposed being, are brought to- 
gether, and illustrated by such facts as are yet 
appealed to by the credulous. If I mistake not, 
none of the historical circumstances mentioned 
: are older than half a century. It is only about 

thirty years since the bridge referred to was 
•juilt. — Jamieson. 



m- 



And mony a chiell has heard me squeal 
For sair-brizz'd back and banes. $ 

" Within flude-mark, I aft do wark 

Gudewillit, quhan I please; 
In quarries deep, quhile uthers sleep, 

Greit blocks I win with ease. 

" Yon bonnie brig quhan folk wald big, 
To gar my stream look braw ; 

A sair-toil'd wicht was I be nicht 
I did mair than thaim aw. 

" And weel thai kent quhat help I lent, 

For thai yon image fram't, 
Aboon the pend whilk I defend ; 

And it thai Kelpie nam't.§ 

" Quhan lads and lasses wauk the clais, 

Narby yon whinny hicht, 
The sound of me their daffin lays ; 

Thai dare na mudge for fricht. 

" Now in the midst of them I scream, 
Quhan toozlin' on the haugh ; 

Than quhihher by thaim doun the stream, 
Loud nickerin in a lauch. 

" Sicklike's my fun, of wark quhan run : 

But I do meikle mair; 
In pool or ford can nane be smur'd 

Gin Kelpie be nae there. 

" Fow lang, I wat, I ken the spat, 
Quhair ane sail meet his deid: 

Nor wit nor pow'r put aff the hour, 
For his wan weird decreed. 

" For oulks befoir, alangis the shoir, 
Or dancin' down the stream, 

My lichts are seen to blaze at een, 
With wull wanerthly gleam. 






% It is pretended that Kelpie celebrated this 
memorable event in rhyme ; and that for a long . 
time after he was often heard to cry, with a 
doleful voice, 



Jamieson. 

§ A head, like that of a gorgon, appears above 
the arch of the bridge. This was hewn in honour 
of Kelpie. — Jamieson. 







% ' 



" The hind cums in, gif haim he win, 
And cries, as he war wod, — 

Sum ane sail soon be carryit down 
' By that wanchancy flude !' 

" The taiken leil thai ken fow weel, 

On water sides quha won ; 
And aw but thai, quha's weird I spae, 

Fast frae the danger run. 

" But fremmit fouk I thus provoke 

To meit the fate thai flee 
To wilderit vvichts thai're waefow lichts, 

But lichts of joy to me. 



" With ruefow cries, that rend the skies, 
Thair fate I seem to mourn, 
^\ Like crocodile, on banks of Nile ; 
^J For I still do the turn. 

v - " Douce, cautious men aft fey are seen ; 

Thai rin as thai war heyrt, 
>K Despise all rede, and court their dede : 
^? By me are thai inspir't. 

" Yestreen the water was in spate, 
\ The stanners aw war cur'd ; 

A man, nae stranger to the gate, 
Raid up to tak' the ford. 

" The haill town sware it wadna ride ; 

And Kelpie had been heard : 
But nae a gliffin wad he bide, 

His shroud I had prepar'd. * 



H 



: A very common tale in Scotland is here 

alluded to by the poet. On the banks of a rapid 

stream the Water Spirit was heard repeatedly 

to exclaim, in a dismal tone, " The hour is come, 

;'i but not the man;" when a person coming up, 

' cj\ contrary to all remonstrances, endeavoured to 

|£/ ford the stream, and perished in the attempt. 

The original story is to be found in Gervase of 

'■ : \ Tilbury. — In the parish of Castleton, the same 

•/ story is told, with this variation, that the bye- 

standers prevented, by force, the predestined 

individual from entering the river, and shut him 

r up in the church, where he was next morning 

found suffocated, with his face lying immersed 

- , in the baptismal font. To a fey person, there- 

■ ) \ fore, Shakespeare's words literally apply : 

ll=\. Put but a little water in a spoon, 

And it shall be as all the ocean, 

Enough to swallow such a being up. — Scott. 



"The human schaip I sometimes aipt 

As Prosenhaugh raid haim, 
Ae starnless nicht, he gat a fricht, 

Maist crackt his bustuous frame. 

" I, in a glint, lap on ahint, 
And in my arms him fang't ; 

To his dore-cheik I keipt the cleik 
The carle was sair bemang't. 

" My name itsell wirks like a spell, 
And quiet the house can keep ; 

Qui) an greits the wean, the nurse in vain, 
Thoch tyke-tyrit, tries to sleip. 

" But gin scho say, ' Lie still, ye skrae, 
There's Water-Kelpie's chap;' 

It's fieyit to wink, and in a blink 
It sleips as sound's a tap." 

He said, and thrice he rais't his voice, 

And gaif a horrid gowl : 
Thrice with his tail, as with a flail, 

He struck the flying pool. 

A thunderclap seem't ilka wap, 

Resoundin' throw the wu,de: 
The fire thrice flash't; syne in he plash' t, 

And sunk beneath the flude. 



®j)>* JWate awBi §nt^ 



[From Buchan's Ballads.] 

"0 open the door, my honey, my heart, 

O open the door, my ain kind dearie ; 
For dinna ye mind upo' the time, 

We met in the wood at the well sae wearie t 

" O gi'e me my castick, my dow, my dow, Pa4| 

gi'e me my castick, my ain kind dearie ; 

For dinna ye mind upo* the time, 

We met in the wood at the well sae wearie ? 

" O gi'e me my brose, my dow, my dow, 
gi'e me my brose, my ain kind dearie ; 

For dinna ye mind upo' the time, 

We met in the wood at the well sae wearie ? ^~i 



i 

(Vtj 



" gi'e me my kail, my dow, my dow, 
O gi'c me my kail, my ain kind dearie ; 

For dinna ye mind upo' the time, 

We met in the wood at the well sae wearie 

" lay me down, my dow, my dow, 
O lay me down, my ain kind dearie ; 

For dinna ye mind upo' the time, 

We met in the wood at the well sae 
wearie?" 

" O woe to you now, my dow, my dow, 
O woe to you now, my wile fause dearie ; 

And oh ! for the time I had you again, 

Plunging the dubs at the well sae wearie 1" 



, Jfcg of tl&t Jfflforil ©kirn. 

[From "The Mountain Bard," by James 
Hog©.] 

I will tell you of ane wondrous tale, 

As ever was told by man , 
Or ever was sung by minstrel meet 

Since this base world began : — 

It is of ane May, and ane lovely May, 
That dwelt in the Moril Glen, 
1 f . The fairest flower of mortal frame, 

But a devil amongst the men ; 

^V For nine of them sticket themselves for love, 

And ten louped in the main, 
And seven-and-thretty brake their hearts, 
And never loved women again ; 

For ilk ane trowit she was in love, 
And ran wodde for a while — 

There was siccan language in every look, 
And a speire in every smile. 

And she had seventy scores of ewes, 
That blett o'er dale and down, 

On the bonnie braid lands of the Moril Glen, 
And these were all her own ; 

And she had stotts, and sturdy steers, 

And blithsome kids enew, 
That danced as light as gloaming flies 

Out through the falling dew. 



And this May she had a snow-white bull, 

The dread of the hail countrye, 
And three-and-thretty good milk kye, 

To bear him companye ; 

And she had geese and goslings too, ■ 

And ganders of muckil din, 
And peacocks, with their gaudy trains, 

And hearts of pride within ; 

And she had cocks with curled kaims, 

And hens, full crouse and glad, 
lbft,t chanted in her own stack-yard, 

And cackillit and laid like mad ; 

But where her minnie gat all that gear 

And all that lordly trim, 
The Lord in Heaven he knew full well, 

But nobody knew but him ; 

For she never yielded to mortal man, 

To prince, nor yet to king — 
She never was given in holy church, 

Nor wedded with ane ring. 

So all men wist, and all men said ; 

But the tale was in sore mistime, 
For a maiden she could hardly be, 

With a daughter in beauty's prime. 

But this bonnie May, she never knew 

A father's kindly claim ; 
She never was bless'd in holy church, 

Nor christen'd in holy name. 

But there she lived an earthly flower 

Of beauty so supreme, 
Some fear'd she was of the mermaid's brood,y 

Come out of the salt sea faeme. 

Some said she was found in a fairy ring, 

And born of the fairy queen ; 
For there was a rainbow behind the moon 

That night she first was seen. 

Some said her mother was a witch, 

Come frae ane far countrye ; 
Or a princess loved by a weird warlock 

In a land beyond the seal 

Oh, there are doings here below 

That mortal ne'er should ken ; 
For there are things in this fair world 

Beyond the reach of men. 




m 



Ae thing most sure and certain was — 

For the bedesmen told it me — 
That the knight who coft the Moril Glen 

Ne'er spoke a word but three. 

And the masons who biggit that wild ha' 
Ne'er spoke word good nor ill ; [house 

They came like a dream, and pass'd away 
Like shadows o'er the hill. 

They came like a dream, and pass'd away 

Whither no man could tell; 
But they ate their bread like Christian men, 

And drank of the crystal well. 

And whenever man said word to them, 
They stay'd their speech full soon ; 

For they shook their heads, and raised their 
And look'd to heaven aboon. [hands, 

And the lady came — and there she 'bade 

For mony a lonely day ; 
But whether she bred her bairn to God — 

To read but and to pray — 

There was no man wist, though all men 
And guess'd with fear and dread j [guess'd, 

But oh she grew ane virgin rose, 
To seemly womanheid ! 

And no man could look on her face, 
And eyne that beam'd so clear, 

But felt a stang gang through his heart, 
Far sharper than a spear. 

It was not like ane prodde or pang 

That strength could overwin, 
But like ane red hot gaud of iron 

Reeking his heart within. 

So that around the Moril Glen 

Our brave young men did lie, 
With limbs as lydder, and as lythe, 

As duddis hung out to dry. 

And aye the tears ran down in streanw 
Ower cheeks right woe-begone; 

And aye they gasped, and they gratte, 
And thus made piteous moan :— 

" Alake that I had ever been born. 

Or dandelit on the knee ; 
Or rockit in ane cradle bed, 

Beneath a mother's e'e 1 



" For love is like the fiery flame 

That quivers through the rain, 
And love is like the pang of death 

That splits the heart in twain. 

" If I had loved earthly thing, 

Of earthly blithesomeness, 
1 might have been beloved again, 

And bathed in earthly bliss. 

*' But I have loved ane freakish fay 

Of frowardness and sin, 
With heavenly beauty on the face, 

And heart of stone within. 

" 0, for the gloaming calm of death 

To close my mortal day — 
The last benighting heave of breath, 

That rends the soul away !" 

But word's gone east, and word's gone west, 

'Mong high and low degree, 
Quhile it went to the king upon the throne, 

And ane wrothful man was he. — 

" What !" said the king, " and shall we sit 

In sackcloth mourning sad, 
Quhille all mine lieges of the land 

For ane young quean run mad ? 

" Go saddle me my milk-white steed, 

Of true Megaira brode; 
I will go and see this wondrous dame, 

And prove her by the rode. 

" And if I find her elfin queen, 

Or thing of fairy kind, 
I will burn her into ashes small, 

And sift them on the wind i" 

The king hath chosen fourscore knighto, 

All busked gallantlye, 
And he is away to the Moril Glen, 

As fast as he can dree. 

And when he came to the Moril Glen, 

Ae morning fair and clear, 
This lovely May on horseback rode 

To hunt the fallow deer. 



Her palfrey was of snowy hue, 

A pale unearthly thing, 
That revell'd over hill and dale 

Like bird upon the wing. 

Her screen was like a net of gold, 

That dazzled as it flew ; 
Her mantle was of the rainbow's red, 

Her rail of its bonnie blue. 

A golden comb with diamonds bright, 

Her seemly virgin crown, 
Shone like the new moon's lady light 

O'er cloud of amber brown. 

The lightning that shot from her eyne, 

Flicker'd like elfin brand ; 
It was sharper nor the sharpest spear 

In all Northumberland. 

The hawk that on her bridle arm 

Outspread his pinions blue, 
To keep him steady on the perch 

As his loved mistress flew, 

Although his een shone like the gleam, 

Upon ane sable sea, 
Yet to the twain that ower them beam'd, 

Compared they could not be. 

Like carry ower the morning sun 

That shimmers to the wind, 
So flew her locks upon the gale, 

And stream 'd afar behind. 

The king he wheel'd him round about, 

And calleth to his men, 
" Yonder she comes, this wierdly witch, 

This spirit of the glen I 

" Come rank your master up behind, 

This serpent to belay; 
I'll let you hear me put her down 

In grand polemic way." 

Swift eame the maid ower strath and stron- 

Nae dantonit dame was she — 
Until the king her path withstood, 

In might and majestye. 

The virgin cast on him a look, 

"With gay and graceful air, 
As on some thing below her note, 

That ougot not to have been there. 



The king, whose belt was like to burst, 

With speeches most divine, 
Now felt ane throbbing of the heart, 

And quaking of the spine. 

And aye he gasped for his breath, 

And gaped in dire dismay, 
And waved his arm, and smote his breast ; 

But word he could not say. 

The spankie grewis they scowr'd the dale, 

The dun deer to restrain ; 
The virgin gave her steed the rein, 

And follow'd, might and main. 

" Go bring her back," the king be cried ; 

" This reifery must not be. 
Though you should bind her hands and feet, 

Go bring her back to me." 

The deer she flew, the garf and grew 

They follow'd hard behind; 
The milk-white palfrey brush'd the dew 

Far fleeter nor the wind. 

But woe betide the lords and knights, 

That taiglit in the dell ! 
For though with whip and spur they plied, 

Full far behind they fell. 

They look'd outowre their left shoulders, 

To see what they might see, 
And there the king, in fit of love, 

Lay spurring on the lea. 

And aye he batter'd with his feet, 

And rowtea with despair, 
And pull'd the grass up by the roou, 

And flang it on the air I 

" What ails, what ails my royal liege ? 

Such grief I do deplore." 
" Oh I'm bewitched," the king replied, 

" And gone for evermore i 

" Go bring her back — go bring her back- 
Go bring her back tome; 

For I must either die of love, 
Or own that dear ladye 1 

" That god of love out through my soul 

Hath shot his arrows keen ; 
And I am enchanted through the hear:. 

The liver, and the spleen." 






/To 



The deer was slain ; the royal train 

Then closed the virgin round, 
And then her fair and lily hands 

Behind her back were bound. 

But who should bind her winsome feet ? 

That bred such strife and pain, 
That sixteen brave and belted knights 

Lay gasping on the plain. 

And when she came before the king, 

Ane ireful carle was he ; 
Saith he, " Dame, you must be my love, 

Or burn beneath ane tree. 

" Tor I am so sore in love with thee, 

I cannot go nor stand ; 
And thinks thou nothing to put dcwn 

The king of fair Scotland ?" 

" No, I can ne'er be love to thee, 

Nor any lord thou hast; 
For you are married men each one, 

And I a maiden chaste. 

" But here I promise, and I vow 
By Scotland's king and crown, 

Who first a widower shall prove, 
Shall claim me as his own." 

The king hath mounted his milk-white 
One word he said not more, — [steed, — 

And he is away from the Moril Glen, 
As ne'er rode king before. 

He sank his rowels to the naife, 
And scour 'd the muir and dale, 

He held his bonnet on his head, 
And louted to the gale, 

Till wives ran skreighing to the door, 

Holding their hands on high ; 
They never saw king in love before, 

In such extremitye. 

And every lord and every knight 

Made off his several way, 
All galloping as they had been mad, 

Withouten stop or stay. 

But there was never such dool and pain 

In any land befel ; 
For there is wickedness in man, 

That grieveth me to tell. 



There was one eye, and one alone, 

Beheld the deeds were done ; 
But the lovely queen of Fair Scotland 

Ne'er saw the morning sun ; 

And seventy-seven wedded dames, 

As fair as e'er were born, 
The very pride of all the land, 

Were dead before the morn. 

Then there was nought but mourning weed?, 

And sorrow, and dismay; 
While burial met with burial still, 

And jostled by the way. 

And graves were howkit in green kirkyards. 

And howkit deep and wide ; 
While bedlars swarfit for very toil, 

The con.ely corps to hide. 

The graves, with their unseemly jaws, 

Stood gaping day and night 
To swallow up the fair and young;— 

It was ane grievous sight ! 

And the bonnie May of the Moril Glen 

Is weeping in despair, 
For she saw the hills of fair Scotland 

Could be her home nae mair. 

Then there were chariots came o'er night, 

As silent and as soon 
As shadow of ane little cloud 

In the wan light of the moon. 

Some said they came out of the rock, 

And seme out of the sea ; 
And some said they were sent from hell, 

To bring that fair ladye. 

When the day sky began to frame 

The grizly eastern fell, 
And the little wee bat was bound to seek 

His dark and eery cell, 

The fairest flower of mortal frame 

Pass'd from the Moril Glen ; 
And ne'er may such a deadly eye 

Shine amongst Christian men ! 

In seven chariots, gilded bright, 

The train went o'er the fell, 
All wrapt within a shower of hail ; 

Whither no man could tell ; 




But there was a 9hip in the Firth of Forth, v^ 

The like ne'er sail'd the faeme, 
For no man of her country knew 

Her colours or her name. 

Her mast was made of beaten gold, 

Her sails of the silken twine, 
And a thousand pennons stream 'd behind, 

And trembled o'er the brine. 

As she lay mirror'd in the main, 
It was a comely view, 
' So many rainbows round her play'd 
With every breeze that blew. 

And the hailstone shroud it rattled loud, 

Eight over ford and fen, 
And swathed the flower of the Moril Glen 

From eyes of sinful men. 

And the hailstone shroud it wheel 'd and 
As wan as death unshriven, [row'd, 

Like dead cloth of an angel grim, 
Or winding sheet of heaven. 

It was a fearsome sight to see 

Toil through the morning gray, 
And whenever it reach'd the comely ship, 

She set sail and away. 

She set her sail before the gale, 

As it began to sing, 
And she heaved and rocked down the tide, 

Unlike an earthly thing. 

The dolphins fled out of her way 

Into the creeks of Fife, 
And the blackguard seals they yowlit for 

And swam for death and life. [dread, 

But aye the ship, the bonnie ship, 

Outowre the green wave flew, 
Swift as the solan on the wing, 

Or terrified sea-mew. 

No billow breasted on her prow, 

Nor levell'd on the lee ; 
She seem'd to sail upon the air 

And never touch the sea. 

And away, and away went the bonnie ship, 
Which man never more did see; 

But whether she went to heaven or hell, 
Was ne'er made known to me. 



[Feom "The Queen's Wake," by James Hogg. 
We give this the most beautiful perhaps of all 
the Ettrick Shepherd's productions, as an ap* 
propriate close to the Ballads on Fairy Mytho- 
logy. — "Besides the old tradition," says the au- 
thor, "on Which this ballad is founded, there 
are some modern incidents of a similar nature, 
which cannot well be accounted for, yet are as 
well attested as any occurrence that has taken 
place in the present age. The relation may be 
amusing to some readers. A man in the parish 
of Traquair, and county of Peebles, was busied 
one day casting turf in a large open field opposite 
to the mansion-house — the spot is well known, 
and still pointed out as rather unsafe; his 
daughter, a child seven years of age, was playing 
beside him, and amusing him with her prattle. 
Chancing to ask a question at her, he was sur- 
prised at receiving no answer, and, looking be- 
hind him, he perceived that his child was not 
there. He always averred that, as far as he 
could remember, she had been talking to him 
about half a minute before; he was certain it 
was not above a whole one at most. It was in 
vain that he ran searching all about like one dis- 
tracted, calling her name ; — no trace of her re- 
mained. He went home in a state of mind that 
may be better conceived than expressed, and 
raised the people of the parish, who searched for 
her several days with the same success. Every 
pool in the river, every bush and den on the 
mountains around was searched iu vain. It was 
remarked that the father never much encourag- 
ed the search, being thoroughly persuaded that 
she was carried away by some invisible being, 
else she could not have vanished so suddenly. 
As a last resource, he applied to the minister of 
Inverleithen, a neighbouring divine of exemplary 
piety and zeal in religious matters, who enjoined 
him to cause prayers be offered to God for her 
in seven Christian churches, next Sabbath, at 
the same instant of time; 'and then,' said he, 
' if she is dead, God will forgive our sin in pray- 
ing for the dead, as we do it through ignorance; 
and if she is still alive, I will answer for it, that 
all the devils in hell shall be unable to keep her.' 
The injunction was punctually attended to. 
She was remembered in the prayers of all the 
neighbouring congregations, next Sunday, at the 



r^J 



same hour, and never were there such prayers foH 
fervour heard before. There was one divine in 
particular, Mr. Davidson, who prayed in such a 
manner that all the hearers trembled. As the 
m old divine foreboded, so it fell out. On that 
I j very day, and within an hour of the time on 
which these prayers were offered, the girl was 
found in the Plora wood, sitting, picking the 
j bark from a tree. She could give no perfect ac- 
p count of the circumstances which had befallen 
rolpA to her, but she said she did not want plenty 
V^2< of meat, for that her mother came and fed her 
~? with milk and bread several times a-day, and 
sung her to sleep at night. Her skin had ac- 
quired a bluish cast, which wore gradually off in 
'% ■ the course of a few weeks. Her name was Jane 
' Brown ; she lived to a very advanced age, and 
was known to many still alive. Every circum- 
g stance of this story is truth, if the father's report 
^ of the suddenness of her disappearance may be 
fr^\ relied on. 

" Another circumstance, though it happened 
still later, is not less remarkable. A shepherd of 
"Xs*) 1 Tushilaw, in the parish of Ettrick, whose name 
^pLj ^ as Walter Dalgleish, went out to the heights 
- , of that farm, one Sabbath morning, to herd 
the young sheep for his son, and let him to 
church. He took his own dinner along with 
CX-,^ 'lira, and his son's breakfast. When the sermons 
N were over, the lad went straight home, and did 
not return to his father. Night came, but 
nothing of the old shepherd appeared. When it 
grew very late his dog came home — seemed ter- 
rified, and refused to take any meat. The family 
were ill at ease during the night, especially as 
they never had known his dog leave him before ; 
and early next morning the lad arose and went 
to the height, to look after his father and his 
flock. He found his sheep all scattered, and his 
father's dinner unbroken, lying on the same spot 
where they had parted the day before. At the 
distance of twenty yards from the spot, the plaid 
which the old man wore was lying as if it had 
been flung from him, and a little farther on, in 
the same direction, his bonnet was found, but 
nothing of himself. The country people, as on 
all such occasions, rose in great numbers, and 
searched for him many days. My father, and 
several old men still alive, were of the party. 
He could not be found or heard of, neither dead 
nor alive, and at length they gave up all thoughts 
of ever seeing him more. 
" On the twentieth day after his disappear- 
f\^> ance, a shepherd's wife, at a place called Berry- 



S*« 



tm/ 



m^ 



C* 



ArJ 



bush, came in as the family was sitting down ti 
dinner, and said, that if it were possible to be- 
lieve that Walter Dalgleish was still in existence, 
she would say yonder was he coming down the 
hill. They all ran out to watch the phenome- 
non, and as the person approached nigher, they 
perceived that it was actually he, walking with- 
out his plaid and his bonnet. The place where 
he was first descried is not a mile distant from 
that where he was last seeu, and there is neither 
brake, hag, nor bush. When he came into the 
house, he shook hands with them all— asked for 
his family, and spoke as if he had been absent 
for years, and as if convinced something had be- 
fallen them. As they perceived something sin- 
gular in his looks and manner, they unfortu- 
nately forebore asking him any questions at first, 
but desired him to sit and share their dinner. 
This he readily complied with, and began to sup 
some broth with seeming eagerness. He had 
only taken one or two spoonfuls when he sud- 
denly stopped, a kind of rattling noise was 
heard in his breast, and he sunk back in a faint. 
They put him to bed, and from that time forth 
he never spoke another word that any person 
could make sense of. He was removed to his 
own home, where he lingered a few weeks, and 
then died. What befell him remains to this day 
a mystery, and for ever must."] 

Bonnie Kilmeny gaed up the glen ; 
But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, 
Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, 
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
It was only to hear the Yorlin sing, 
And pu' the cress-flower round the spring; 
The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye, 
And the nut that hang frae the hazel tree ; 
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
But lang may her minny look o'er the wa', 
And lang may she seek i' the green-wood shaw ; 
Lang the laird of Duneira blame, 
And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come name ! 

When many a day had come and fled, 
When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, 
When mess for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, 
When the bedes-man had prayed, and the dead 

bell rung, 
Late, late in a gloamin when all was still, 
When the fringe was red on the westlin hill, 
The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, 
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain, 
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; 



FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



513 



When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, 
Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came hame ! 

" Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? 
Lang ha'e we sought baith holt and den; 
By linn, by ford, and green -wood tree, 
Yet you are halesome and fair to see. 
Where gat you that joup o' the lily scheen ? 
That bonnie snood of the birk sae green ? 
And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen ? 
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ?" 

Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, 
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face ; 
As still was her look, and as still was her e'e, 
As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, 
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. 
For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, 
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not 

declare ; 
Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, 
Where the rain never fell, and the wind never 

blew ; 
But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, 
And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, 
When she spake of the lovely forms she had 
And a land where sin had never been; [seen, 
A land of Jove, and a land of light, 
Withouten sun, or moon, or night; 
Where the river swa'd a living stream, 
And the light a pure celestial beam : 
The land of vision it would seem, 
A still, an everlasting dream. 

In yon green -wood there is a walk, 
And in that waik there is a wene, 

And in that wene there is a maike, 
That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane ; 

And down in yon green -wood he walks his 
lane. 

In that green wene Kilmeny lay, 
Her bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay ; 
But the air was soft and the silence deep, 
And bonnie Kilmeny fell sound aslaep ; 
She kend nae mair, nor opened her e'e, 
Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye. 

She 'wakened on a couch of the silk sae slim, 
All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim ; 
And lovely beings round were rife, 
Who erst had travelled mortal life ; 
And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer, 
** What spirit has brought this mortal here ?"— 



" Lang have I journeyed the world wide," 
A meek and reverend fere replied ; 
" Baith night and day I have watched the fair, 
Fident a thousand years and mair. 
Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree, 
Wherever blooms femenitye ; 
But sinless virgin, free of stain 
In mind and body, fand I nane. 
Never, since the banquet of time, 
Found I a virgin in her prime, 
Till late this bonnie maiden I saw 
As spotless as the morning snaw : 
Full twenty years she has lived as free 
As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye : 
I have brought her away frae the snares of men, 
That sin or death she never may ken." — ■ 

They clasped her waist and her hand sae fair, 
They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair, 
And round came many a blooming fere, 
Saying, " Bonnie Kilmeny, ye're welcome here ! 
Women are freed of the littand scorn : 
0, blessed be the day Kilmeny was born ! 
Now shall the land of the spirits see, 
Now shall it ken what a woman may be ! 
Many a lang year in sorrow and pain, 
Many a lang year through the world we've gane, 
Commissioned to watch fair womankind, 
For it's they who nourice the immortal mind. 
We have watched their steps as the dawning 

shone, 
And deep in the green-wood walks alone ; 
By lily bower and sLken bed, 
The viewless tears have o'er them shed ; 
Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep, 
Or left the couch of love to weep. 
We have seen ! we have seen ! but the time 

must come, 
And the angels will weep at the day of doom \ 

" 0, would the fairest of mortal kind 
Aye keep the holy truths in mind, 
That kindred spirits their motions see, 
Who watch their ways with anxious e'e, 
And grieve for the guilt of humanitye ! 
0, sweet to heaven the maiden's prayer, 
And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair ! 
And dear to heaven the words of truth, 
And the praise of virtue frae beauty's mouth • 
And dear to the viewless forms of air, 
The minds that kythe as the body fair ! 

" O, bonnie Kilmeny ! free frae stain, 
If ever you seek the world again, 
2k 



5U 



SCOTTISH BALLAD?. 



That world of sin, of sorrow and fear, 
O, tell of the joys that are waiting here; 
And tell of the signs you shall shortly see ; 
Of the times that are now, and the times that 
shall be." — 

They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, 
And she walked in the light of a sunless day : 
The sky was a dome of crystal bright, 
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light: 
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, 
And the flowers of everlasting blow. 
Then deep in the stream her body they laid, 
That her youth and beauty never might fade; 
And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her 

lie 
In the stream of life that wandered bye. 
And she heard a song, she heard it sung, 
She kend not where ; but sae sweetly it rung, 
It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn : 
" O ! blest be the day Kilmeny was born ! 
Now shall the land of the spirits see, 
Now shall it ken what a woman may be ! 
The sun that shines on the world sae bright, 
A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light; 
And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun, 
Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun, 
Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair, 
And the angels shall miss them travelling the 

air. 
But lang, lang after baith night and day, 
"When the sun and the world have elyed away ; 
When the sinner has gane to his waesome 

doom, 
Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom J"— 

They bore her away, she wist not how, 
For she felt not arm nor rest below ; 
But so swift they wained her through the 

light, 
•Twas like the motion of sound or sight; 
They seemed to split the gales of air, 
And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. 
Unnumbered groves below them grew, 
They came, they past, and backward flew, 
Like floods of blossoms gliding on, 
In moment seen, in moment gone. 
O, never vales to mortal view 
-A ppeared like those o'er which they flew J 
That land to human spirits given, 
The lowermost vales of the storied heaven ; 
From thence they can view the world below, 
And heaven's blue gates with sapphires glow, 
More glory yet unmeet to know. 



They bore her far to a mountain green, 
To see what mortal never had seen ; 
And they seated her high on a purple sward. 
And bade her heed what she saw and heard, 
And note the changes the spirits wrought, 
For now she lived in the land of thought- 
She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies, 
But a crystal dome of a thousand dies: 
She looked, and she saw nae land aright, 
But an endless whirl of glory and light: 
And radiant beings went and came 
Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame; 
She hid her een frae the dazzling view ; 
fc-he looked again, and the scene was new. 

She saw a sun on a summer 9ky, 
And clouds of amber sailing bye; 
A lovely land beneath her lay, 
And that land had glens and mountains gray ; 
And that land had valleys and hoary piles, 
And marled seas and a thousand isles ; 
Its fields were speckled, its forests green, 
And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen, 
Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay 
The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray ; 
Which heaved and trembled, and gently swung, 
On every sht ve they seemed to be hung; 
For there they were 6een on their downward 

plain 
A thousand times and a thousand again ; 
In winding lake and placid firth, 
Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth. 

Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve, 
For she found her heart to that land did cleave ; 
She saw the corn wave on the vale, 
Siie saw the deer run down the dale ; 
She saw the plaid and the broad claymore, 
And the brows that the badge of freedom bore ; 
And she thought she had seen the land before. 

She saw a lady sit on a throne, 
The fairest that ever the sun shone on ! 
A lion licked her hand of milk, 
And she held him in a ltish of silk ; 
And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee. 
With a silver wand and melting e'e; 
Her sovereign shield till love stole in, 
And poisoned all the fount within. 

Then a gruff untoward bedes-man came, 
And hundit the lion on his dame ; 
And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless e i , 
She dropped a tear, and left her knee ; 









FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 



515 



And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled, 
Till the bonniest flower of the wo; Id lay dead ; 
A coffin was set on a distant plain, 
And she saw the red blood fall like rain : 
Then bonny Kilmeny's heart grew saiv. 
And she turned away, and could look nae 
niair. 

Then the gruff grim carle girned amain. 

And they trampled him down, but he rose 

again ; 
And he baited the lion to deeds of weir, 
Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear; 
And weening his head was danger-preef, 
When crowned with the rose and clover leaf, 
He gowled at the carle, and chased him away 
To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gray. 
He gowled at the carle, and he gecked at 

Heaven, 
But his mark was set, and his arles given. 
Kilmeny a while her een withdrew ; 
She looked again, and the scene was new. 

She saw below her fair unfurled 
One half of all the glowing world, 
Where oceans rolled, and rivers ran, 
To bound the aims of sinful man. 
She saw a peoj le, fierce and fell, 
Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell ; 
There lilies grew, and the eagle flew, 
And she herked on her ravening crew, 
Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a 

blaze, 
And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and 

the seas. 
The widows they wailed, and the red blood ran, 
And she threatened an end to the race of 

man: 
She never lened, nor stood in awe, 
Till caught by the lion's deadly paw. 
Oh ! then the eagle swinked for life, 
And brainzelled up a mortal strife ; 
But flew she north, or flew she south, 
She met wi' the gowl of the lion's mouth. 

With a mooted wing and waefu' maen, 
The eagle sought her eiry again ; 
But lang may she cower in her bloody nest, 
And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast, 
Before she sey another flight, 
To play wi' the norland lion's might. 

But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw, 
So far surpassing nature's law, 



<£>} The singer's voice wad sink away, 

And the string of his harp v/ad cease to play. 
But she saw till the sorrows of man were bye, 
And all was love and harmony; 
Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away, 
Like the flakes of snaw on a winter day. 

Then Kilmeny begged again to see 
The friends she had left in her own countrye, 
To tell of the place where she had been, 
And the glories that lay in the land unseen ; 
To warn the living maidens fair, 
The loved of Heaven, the spirits' care, 
That all whose minds unmeled remain 
Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. 

With distant music, soft and deep, 
They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; 
And when she awakened, she lay her lane, 
All happed 'with flowers in the green-wood wene. 
When seven lang years had come and fled; 
When grief was calm, and hope was dead ; 
When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, 
Late, late in a gloamin Kilmeny came hame ! 
And O, her beauty was fair to see, 
But still and steadfast was her e'e ! 
Such beauty bard may never declare, 
For there was no pride nor passion there ; 
And the soft desire of maiden's een 
In that mild face could never be seen. 
Her seymar was the liiy flower, 
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower; 
And her voice like the distant melodye, 
That floats along the twilight sea. 
But she loved to raike the lanely glen, 
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men ; 
Her holy hymns unheard to sing, 
To suck the flowers, and drink the spring. 
But wherever her peaceful form appeared, 
The wild beasts of the hill were cheered; 
The wolf played blythely round the field, 
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled ; 
The dun deer wooed with manner bland, 
And cowered aneath her lily hand. 
And when at even the woolands rung, 
When hymns of other worlds she sung 
In ecstasy of sweet devotion, 
O, then the glen was all in motion ! 
The wild beasts of the forest came, 
Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame, 
And goved around, charmed and amazed ; 
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed, 
And murmured and looked with anxious pain 
f£ For something the mystery to explain. 



516 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






Th* buzzard came with the throstle-cock ; 
The corby left her houf in the rock ; 
The blackbird alang wi' the eagle new; 
The hind came tripping o'er the dew; 
The wolf and the kid their raike began, 
And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret 

ran ; 
The hawk and the hern attour them hung, 
And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their 

And all in a peaceful ring were hurled : 
It was like an eve iu a sinless world! 



When a month and a day had come and gane, 
Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene ; 
There laid her down on the leaves sae green, 
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. 
But O, the words that fell from her mouth, 
Were words of wonder, and words of truth ! 
But all the land were in fear and dread, 
For they kendna whether she was living or 

dead. 
It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain ; 
She left this world of sorrow and pain, 
* And returned to the land of thought again. 
















:x*%fe^7 



BALLADS 

RELATING TO THE GREAT CIVIL WARS OF THE 

SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 



[Reprinted from Sir Walter Scott's Minstrelsy 
of the Scottish Border.] 

" rSu', O uiy country! how shall memory trace 
Thy glories, lost in either Charles's days, 
When through thy fieids destructive rapine spread, 
Nor spuing infants' tears, nor hoary head ! 
In those dread days, the unprotected swain 
Mourn'd, in the mountains, o'er his wasted plain ; 
Nor longer vocal, with the shepherd's lay, 
"Were Yarrow's banks, or groves of Endermay." 

Langhorne — Genius and Valour. 

Such are the verses, in which a modern bard has 
painted the desolate state of Scotland, during a 
period highly unfavourable to poetical composi- 
tion. Yet the civil and religious wars of the 
seventeenth century have afforded some subjects 
for traditionary poetry, and the reader is here 
presented with the ballads of that disastrous 
esra. Some prefatory history may not be unac- 
ceptable. 

That the Reformation was a good and a glori- 
ous work, few will be such slavish bigots as to 
deny. But the enemy came, by night, and sowed 
tares among the wheat ; or rather, the foul and 
rank soil, upon which the seed was thrown. 



pushed forth, together with the rising crop, a 
plentiful proportion of pestilential weeds. The 
morals of the reformed clergy were severe,- their 
learning was usually respectable, sometimes pro- 
found ; and their eloquence, though often coarse, 
was vehement, animated, and popular. But 
they never could forget, that their rise had been 
achieved by the degradation, if not the fall, of the 
crown ; and hence, a body of men, who, in most 
countries, have been attached to monarchy, were 
in Scotland, for nearly two centuries, sometimes 
the avowed enemies, always the ambitious rivals, 
of their prince. The disciples of Calvin could 
scarcely avoid a tendency to democracy, and the 
republican form of church government was some- 
times hinted at, as no unfit model for the state; 
at least, the kirkmen laboured to impress, upon 
their followers and hearers, the fundamental 
principle, that the church should be solely gov- 
erned by those, unto whom God had given the 
spiritual sceptre. The elder Melvine, in a con- 
ference with James VI., seized the monarch by 
the sleeve, and, addressing him as "God's sillie 
vassal," told him, " There are two kings, and two 
kingdomes. There is Christ, and his kingdome, 
the kirke; whose subject King James the Sixth 
is, and of whose kingdome he is not a king, nor 



518 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



a head, nor a lord, but a member; and they; 
whom Christ hath called and commanded to 
watch ower his kirke, and govern his spiritual 
kingdome, have sufficient authoritie and power 
from him so to do ; which no Christian king, no 
prince, should controul or discharge, but fortifie 
and assist : otherwise they are not faithful sub- 
jects to Christ."— Calderwood, p. 329. The dele- 
gated theocracy, thus sternly claimed, was exer- 
cised with equal rigour. The offences in the 
king's household fell under their unceremonious 
jurisdiction, and he was formally reminded of his 
occasional neglect to say grace before and after 
meat — his repairing to hear the word more rarely 
than was fitting — his profane banning and swear- 
ing, and keeping of evil company — and, finally, 
of his queen's carding, dancing, night-walking, 
and such like profane pastimes. — Calderwood, p. 
313. A curse, direct or implied, was formally 
denounced against every man, horse, and spear, 
who should assist the king in his quarrel with 
the earl of Gk>wrie ; and from the pulpit, the 
favourites of the listening sovereign were likened 
to Haman, his wife to Herodias, and he himself 
to Ahab, to Herod, and to Jeroboam. These 
effusions of zeal could not be very agreeable to 
the temper of James : and accordingly, by a 
course of slow, and often crooked and cunning 
\ olicy, he laboured to arrange the church-gov- 
ernment upon a less turbulent and menacing 
footing. His eyes were naturally turned towards 
the English hierarchy, which had been modelled, 
by the despotic Henry VIIL, into such a form, 
as to connect indissolubly the interest of the 
church with that of the regal power. * The Re- 
formation, in England, had originated in the 



* Of this the Covenanters were so sensible, as 
to trace (what they called) the Antichristian 
hierarchy, with its idolatry, superstition, and 
human inventions, " to the prelaey of England, 
the fountain whence all these Babylonish streams 
issue unto us." — See their manifesto on entering 
England, in 16i0. 



arbitrary will of the prince; in Scotland, and In 
all other countries of Europe, it had commenced 
among insurgents of the lower ranks. Hence, 
the deep and essential difference which separated 
the Huguenots, the Lutherans, the Scottish Pres- 
byterians, and, in fine, all the other reformed 
churches, from that of England. But James, 
with a timidity which sometimes supplies the 
place of prudence, contented himself with gradu- 
ally imposing upon the Scottish nation a limited 
and moderate system of episcopacy, which, while 
it gave to a proportion of the churchmen a seat 
in the council of the nation, induced them to 
look up to the sovereign, as the power to whose 
influence they owed their elevation. But, in 
other respects, James spared the prejudices of his 
subjects ; no ceremonial ritual was imposed upon 
their consciences ; the pastors were reconciled by 
the prospect of preferment ; f the dress and train 
of the bishops were plain and decent ; the system 
of tythes was placed upon a moderate and unop- 
pressive footing ; $ and, perhaps, on the whole, 
the Scottish hierarchy contained as few objec- 
tionable points as any system of church -govern- 
ment in Europe. Had it subsisted to the present 
day, although its doctrines c; uld not have been 
more pure, nor its morals more exemplary, than 
those of the present kirk of Scotland, yet its de- 
grees of promotion might have afforded greater 
encouragement to learning, and objects of laud- 
able ambition to those, who might dedicate 
themselves to its service. But the precipitate 



f Many of the preachers, who had been loudest 
in the cause of presbytery, were induced to accept 
of bishoprics. Such was, for example, William 
Cooper, who was created bishop of Galloway. 
This recreant Mass John was a hypochondriac, 
and conceived his lower extremities to be com- 
posed of glass ; hence, on his court advancement, 
the following epigram was composed :— 



■ ft.un 



s heu ! fragilem cmifi-egit m.i leua urnam 



i This part of the system vtas perfected in the 
reign of Charles I. 



BALLADS ON THE CiYIL WARS. 



519 



bigotry of the unfortunate Charles I. was a blow J 
to episcopacy in Scotland, from which it never 
perfectly recovered. 

It has frequently happened, that the virtues of 
the individual, at least their excess (if, indeed, 
there can be an excess in virtue,) have been fatul 
to the prince. Never was this more fully exein- j 
plified than in the history of Charles 1. His zeal I 
for religion, his family affection, the spirit with 
which he defended his supposed rights, while 
they do honour to the man, were the fatal shelves 
upon which the monarchy was wrecked. Impa- 
tient to accomplish the total revolution, which 
his father's cautious timidity had left incomplete, 
Charles endeavoured at once to introduce into 
Scotland the church-government, and to renew, 
in England, the temporal domination, of his 
predecessor, Henry VIII. The furious temper of 
the Scottish nation first took fire ; and the 
brandished footstool of a prostitute* gave the 
signal for civil dissension, which ceased not till 
the church was buried under the ruins of the 
constitution ; till the nation had stooped to a 
military despotism ; and the monarch to the 
block of the executioner. 

The consequence of Charles' hasty and arbitrary 
measures was soon evident. The united nobility, 
gentry, and clergy of Scotland, entered into the 
Solemn League and Covenant, by which mem- 
oraLle deed, they subscribed and swore a national 
renunciation of the hierarchy. The walls of the 
prelatic Jericho (to use the language of the times) 

* " Out, fahe loon ! rvilt thou say the mass at 
my lug (ear,") was the well-known exclamation 
of Margaret Geddes, as she discharged her missile 
tripod against the bishop of Edinburgh, who, in 
obedienci to the orders of the privy-council, was 
endeavouring to rehearse the common prayer. 
Upon a seat more elevated, the said Margaret 
had shortly before done penance, before the con- 
gregation, for the sin of fornication ; such, at 
least, is the Tory tradition. — Scott. [Jenny Ged- 
des, not Margaret, is the name usually bestowed 
on this heroine. Burns had a favourite mare 
tailed after her. J 



were thus levelled with the ground, and the curse 
of Hiel, the Bethelite, denounced against those 
who should rebuild them. While the clergy 
thundered, from the pulpits, against the prelatists 
and malignants (by which names were distin- 
guished the scattered and heartless adherents of 
Charles,) the nobility and gentry, in arms, hur- 
ried to oppose the march of the English army, 
which now advanced towards their borders. At 
the head of their defensive forces they placed 
Alexander Lesly, who, with many of his best 
officers, had been trained to war under the great 
Gustavus Adolphus. They soon assembled an 
army of 26,000 men, whose camp, upon Dunse- 
Law, is thus described by an eye-witness. " Mr 
Baillie acknowledges, that it was an agreeable 
feast to his eyes, to survey the place ; it is a round 
hill, about a Scots mile in circle, rising, with very 
little declivity, to the height of a bow-shot, and 
the head somewhat plain, and near a quarter of 
a mile in length and breadth ; on the top it was 
garnished with near forty field-pieces, pointed 
towards the east and south. The colonels, who 
were mostly noblemen, as Rothes, Cassilis, Egling- 
ton, Dalhousie, Lindsay, Lowdon, Boyd, Sinclair, 
Balcarras, Elemyng, Kirkcudbright, Erskine, 
Montgomery, Yester, &c, lay in large tents at 
the head of their respective regiments ; their cap- 
tains, who generally were barons, or chief gentle- 
men, lay around them : next to these were the 
lieutenants, who were generally old veterans, and 
had served in that, or a higher station, over sea ; 
and the common soldiers lay outmost, all in huts 
of timber, covered with divot, or straw. Every 
1 j company, which, according to the first plan, did 
c nsist of two hundred men, had their colours 
flying at the captain's tent door, with the Scots 
arms upon them, and this motto, in golden let- 
ters, 'For Christ's Crown and Covenant.'" 
Against this army, so well arrayed and disciplined, 
and whose natural hardihood was edged and ex- 
alted by a high opinion of their sacred cause, 
Charles marched at the head of a large force, but 
divided by the emulation of the oommanders. 






520 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



and enervated by disuse of arms. A faintness of 
spirit pervaded the royal army, and the king 
stooped to a treaty with his Scottish subjects. 
This treaty was soon broken j and, in the fol- 
lowing year, Dunse-Law again presented the 
same edifying spectacle of a presbyterian army, i 
But the Scots were not contented with remain- 
ing there. They passed the Tweed j and the 
English troops, in a skirmish at Newburn, 
showed either more disaffection, or cowardice, 
than had at any former period disgraced their 
national character. This war was concluded by 
the treaty of Rippon ; in consequence of which, 
and of Charles's concessions, made during his 
subsequent visit to his native country, the Scot- 
tish parliament congratulated him on departing 
" a contented king from a contented people." 
If such content ever existed, it was of short 
duration. 

The storm, which had been soothed to tempo- 
rary rest in Scotland, burst forth in England 
with treble violence. The popular clamour ac- 
cused Charles, or his ministers, of fetching into 
Britain the religion of Rome, and the policy of 
Constantinople. The Scots felt most keenly the 
first, and the English the second, of these aggres- 
sions. Accordingly, when the civil war of Eng- 
land broke forth, the Scots nation, for a time, 
regarded it in neutrality, though not with in- 
difference. But, when the successes of a prelatic 
monarch, against a presbyterian parliament, 
were paving the way for rebuilding the system of 
hierarchy, they could no longer remain inactive. 
Bribed by the delusive promise of Sir Henry 
"Vane, and Marshall, the parliamentary commis- 
sioners, that the church of England should be 
reformed, " according to the word of God," 
which, they fondly believed, amounted to an 
adoption of presbytery, they agreed to send suc- 
cours to their brethren of England. Alexander 
Lesly, who ought to have ranked among the 
"contented " subjects, having been raised by the 
king to the honours of Earl of Leven, was, never- 
theless, readily induced to accept the command 



^ of this second army. Doubtless, where insn: rec- 
tion is not only pardoned, but rewarded, a 
monarch has little right to expect gratitude for 
benefits, which all the world, as well as the re- 
ceiver, must attribute to fear. Yet something is 
due to decency ; and the best apology for Lesly, 
is his zeal for propagating presbyterianism in 
England, the bait which had caught the whole 
parliament of Scotland. But, although the Earl 
of Leven was commander-in-chief, David Lesly, 
a yet more renowned and active soldier than 
himself, was major-general of the cavalry, and, 
in truth, bore away the laurels of the expedition. 
The words of the following march, which was 
played in the van of this presbyterian crusade, 
were first published by Allan Ramsay, in his 
" Evergreen ;" and they breathe the very spirit 
we might expect. Mr Ritson, in his collection 
of Scottish songs, has favoured the public with 
the music, which seems to have been adapted to 
the bagpipes. 



March ! march ! 
"Why the devil do ye na march ? 
Stand to your arms, my lads, 
Fight in good order ; 
Front about, ye musketeers all, 
Till ye come to the English border: 
Stand til't, and tight like men, 
True gospel to maintain. 
The parliament's b'.ythe to see us a' coming. 
When to the kirk we come, 
We'll purge it ilka room, 
Frae popish reliques, and a' sic innovation, 
That a' the warid may see, 
There's nane in the right but we, 
Of the auld Scottish nation. 
Jenny shall wear the hood, 
Jocky the sark of God; 
And the kist-fou of whistles, 
That mak' sic a cieiro, 
Our pipers braw 
Shall ha'e them a', 
"Whate'er come on it: 
Busk up your plaids, my lads ! 
Cock up your bonnets 1 
Da Capo. 

The hatred of the old presbyterians to the organ 
was apparently invincible. It is here vilified 
with the name of a " chest-full of whistles," as 
the episcopal chapel at Glasgow was, by the vul- 
var, opprobriously termed the " Whistling Kirk." 
&*Yet, such is the revolution of sentiment upon 



BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WARS. 



521 



this, as upon more important points, that reports ' 
have lately been current, of a plan to introduce 
this noble instrument into presbyterian congre- 
gations. 

The share, which Lesly's army bore in the 
action of Marston Moor, has been exalted, or 
depressed, as writers were attached to the Eng- 
lish or Scottish nations, to the presbyterian or 
independent factions. Mr Laing concludes with 
laudable impartiality, that the victory was equally 
due to " Cromwell's iron brigade of disciplined 
independents, and to three regiments of Lesly's 
horse."— Vol. i. p. 244. 

In the insurrection of 1640, all Scotland, south 
from the Grampians, was actively and zealously 
engaged. But, after the treaty of Rippon, the 
first fury of the revolutionary torrent may be said 
to have foamed off its force, and many of the 
nobility began to look round, with horror, upon 
the rocks and shelves amongst which it had hur- 
ried them. Numbers regarded the defence of 
Scotland as a just and necessary warfare, who 
did not see the same reason for interfering in the 
affairs of England. The visit cf King Charles to 
the metropolis of his fathers, in all probability, 
produced its effect on his nobles. Some were 
allied to the house of Stuart by blood ; all re- 
garded it as the source of their honours, and 
venerated the ancient hereditary royal line of 
Scotland. Many, also, had failed in obtaining 
the private objects of ambition, or selfish policy, 
which had induced them to rise up against the 
crown. Amongst these late penitents, the well- 
known marquis of Montrose was distinguished 
as the first who endeavoured to recede from the 
paths of rude rebellion. Moved by the enthusi- 
asm of patriotism, or perhaps of religion, but yet 
more by ambition, the sin of noble minds, Mon- 
tr, se had engaged, eagerly and deeply, upon the 
side of the covenanters. He had been active in 
pressing the town of Aberdeen to take the cove- 
nant, and his success against the Gordons, at the 
bridge of Dee, left that royal burgh no other 
means of safety from pillage. A t the head of his< 



own battalion, he waded through the Tweed, in 
1640, and totally routed the vanguard of the 
king's cavalry. But, in 1643, moved with resent- 
ment against the covenanters, who preferred, to 
his prompt and ardent character, the caution of 
the wily and politic earl of Argyle, or seeing, per- 
haps, that the final views of that party were in- 
consistent with the interests of monarchy, and of 
the constitution, Montrose espoused the falling 
cause of royalty, and raised the Highland clang, 
whom he united to a small body of Irish, com- 
manded by Alexander Macdonald, still renowned 
in the north, under the title of Colkitto. With 
these tumultuary and uncertain forces, he rushed 
forth, like a torrent from the mountains, and 
commenced a rapid and brilliant career of vic- 
tory. At Tippermoor, where he first met the 
covenanters, their defeat was so effectual, as to 
appal the presbyterian courage, even after the 
lapse of eighty years. * A second army was de- 



* Upon the breaking out of the insurrection, 
in the year 1715, the earl of Rothes, sheriff and 
lord-lieutenant of the county of Fife, issued out 
an order for "all the fencible men of the countie 
to meet him at a place called Cashmoor. The 
gentlemen took no notice of his orders, nor did 
the commons, except those whom the ministers 
forced to go to the place of rendezvouse, to the 
number of fifteen hundred men, being all that 
their utmost diligence could perform. But those 
of that countie, having been taught by their ex- 
perience, that it is not good meddling with edge 
tools, especialiie in the hands of Highlandmen, 
were very averse from taking amies. No sooner 
they reflected on the name of the place of ren- 
dezvouse, Cashmoor, than Tippermoor was called 
to mind ; a place not far from thence, where 
Montrose had routed them, when under the com- 
mand of my great-grand-uncle, the earl of 
Wemyss, then general of G( d's armie. In a 
word, the unlucky choice of a place, called ' Moor,' 
appeared ominous ; and that, with the flying 
report of the Mighlandmen having made them- 
selves masters of Perth, made them throw down 
their armes, and run, notwithstanding the trou- 
ble that Rothes and the ministers gave themselves 
to stop them."— MS. Memoirs of Lord Si Clair. 



U&SHj- 



522 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



feated under the walls of Aberdeen; and thi 
pillage of the ill-fated town was doomed to expi- 
ate the principles which Montrose himself had 
formerly imposed upon them. Argyleshire next 
experienced his arms; the domains of his rival 
were treated with more than military severity ; 
and Argyle himself, advancing to Inverlochy for 
the defence of his country, was totally and dis- 
gracefully routed by Montrose. Pressed betwixt 
two armies well appointed, and commanded by 
the most experienced generals of the Covenant, 
Montrose displayed more military skill in the 
astonishingly rapid marches, by which he avoided 
fighting to disadvantage, than even in the field 
of victory. By one of those hurried marches, 
from the banks of Loch Katrine to the heart of 
lnverness-shire, he v/as enabled to attack, and 
totally to defeat, the Covenanters, at Aulderne, 
though he brought into the field hardly one-half 
of their forces. Baillie, a veteran officer, was 
next routed by him, at the village of Alford, in 
Strathbogie. Encouraged by these repeated and 
splendid successes, Montrose now descended into 
the heart of Scotland, and fought- a bloody and 
decisive battle, near Kilsyth, where four thou- 
sand Covenanters fell under the Highland clay- 
more. 

This victory opened the whole of Scotland to 
Montrose. He occupied the capital, and marched 
forward to the border ; not merely to complete 
the subjection of the southern provinces, but 
with the flattering hope of pouring his victorious 
army into England, and bringing to the support 
of Charles the sword of his paternal tribes. 

Half a century before Montrcse's career, the 
state of the borders was such as might have 
enabled him easily to have accomplished his 
daring plan. The marquis of Douglas, the earls 
of Hume, Roxburgh, Traquair, and Annandale, 
were all descended of mighty border chiefs, 
whose ancestors could, each of them, have led 
into the field a body of their own vassals, equal 
in numbers, and superior in discipline, to the 
army of Montrose. But the military spirit of 



& the borderers, and their attachment to their 
chiefs, had been much broken since the union of 
the crowns. The disarming acts of James had 
been carried rigorously into execution, and the 
smaller proprietors, no longer feeling the neces- 
sity of protection from their chiefs in war, had 
aspired to independence, and embraced the tenets 
of the Covenant. Without imputing, with 
Wishart, absolute treachery to the border nobles, 
it may be allowed, that they looked with envy 
upon Montrose, and with dread and aversion 
upon his rapacious and disorderly forces. Hence, 
had it been in their power, it might not have al- 
together suited their inclinations, to have brought 
the strength of the border lances to the support 
of the northern clans. The once formidable name 
of Douglas still sufficed to raise some bands, by 
whom Montrose was joined, in his march down 
the Gala. With these reinforcements, and with 
the remnant of his Highlanders (for a great num- 
ber had returned home with Colkitto, to deposit 
their plunder, and provide for their families,) 
Montrose, after traversing the border, finally 
encamped upon the field of Philiphaugh. 

The riv r Ettrick, immediately after its junc- 
tion with the Yarrow, and previous to its falling 
into the Tweed, makes a la ge sweep to the south- 
j ward, and winds almost beneath the lofty bank, 
| on which the town of Selkirk stands ; leaving, 
| upon the northern side, a large and level plain, 
extending in an easterly direction, from a hill, 
covered with natural copse-wood, called the Hare- 
head -wood, to the high ground which forms the 
banks of the Tweed, near Sundei land-hall. This 
plain is called Philiphaugh: * it is about a mile 
and a half in length, and a quarter of a mi'.e 
bro-id ; and, being defended, to the northward, 
by the high hills which separate Tweed from 



* The Scottish language is rich in words, ex- 
pressive of local situation. The single word 
haugh, conveys to a Scotsman almost all that I 
have endeavoured to explain in the text, by cir- 
cumlocutory description. 



BALLADS ON THE C1YIL WARS. 



523 



Yarrow, by the river in front, and by the high 
grounds, already mentioned, on each flank, it 
forms, at once, a convenient and a secure field of 
encampment. On each flank Montrose threw up 
some trenches, which are still visible ; and here 
he posted his infantry, amounting to about 
twelve or fifteen hundred men. He himself took 
up his quarters in the burgh of Selkirk, and, with 
him, the cavalry, in number hardly one thousand, 
but respectable, as being chiefly composed of 
gentlemen, and their immediate retainers. In 
this manner, by a fatal and unaccountable error, 
the river Ettrick was thrown betwixt the cavalry 
and infantry, which were to depend upon each 
other for intelligence and mutual support. But 
this might be overlooked by Montrose, in the 
conviction, that there was no armed enemy of 
Charles in the realm of Scotland ; for he is said 
to have employed the night in writing and dis 
patching this agreeable intelligence to the king. 
Such an enemy was already within four miles of 
his camp. 

Recalled by the danger of the cause of the 
Covenant, General David Lesly came down from 
England, at the head of those iron squadrons, 
whose force had been proved in the fatal battle 
of Long Marston Moor. His army consisted of 
from five to six thousand men, chiefly cavalry. 
Lesly's first plan seems to have been, to occupy 
the mid-land counties, so as to intercept the re- 
turn of Montrose's Highlanders, and to force him 
to an unequal combat. Accordingly, he marched 
along the eastern coast, from Berwick to Tranent : 
but there he suddenly altered his direction, and, 
crossing through Mid-Lothian, turned again to 
the southward, and, following the ccurse of Gala 
water, ar;ived at Melrose, the evening before the 
engagement. How it is possible that Montrose 
Bhould have received no notice whatever of the 
march of so considerable an army, seems almost 
inconceivable, and proves, that the country wa3 
strongly disaffected to his caus^, or person. Still 
more extraordinary does it appear, that, even 
with the advantage of a thick mist, Lesly should 



■$) have, the next morning, advanced toward Mon- 
trose's encampment, without being descried by a 
single scout. J-'uch, however, was the case, and 
it was attended with all the consequences of the 
most complete surprisal. The first intimation 
that Montrose received of the march of Lesly, 
was the noise of the conflict, or, rather, that 
which attended the unresisted slaughter of his 
infantry, who never formed a line of battle : the 
r ; ght wing alone, supported by the thickets of 
Harehead-wood, and by the entrenchments, 
which are there still visible, stood firm for some 
time. But Lesly had detached two thousand men 
who, crossing the Ettrick still higher up than his 
main body, assaulted the rear of Montrose's right 
wing. At this moment, the marquis himself ar- 
rived, and beheld his army dispersed, for the first 
time, in irretrievable rout. He had thrown him- 
self upon a hcrse the instant he heard the firing, 
and, followed by such of his disorderly cavalry, 
as had gathered upon the alarm, he galloped from 
Selkirk, crossed the Ettrick, and made a bold and 
desperate attempt to retrieve the fortune of the 
day. But all was in vain ; and, after cutting his 
way, almost singly, through a body of Lesly's 
troopers, the gallant Montrose graced by his ex- 
ample the retreat of the fugitives. That retreat 
he continued up Yarrow, and over Minch moor; 
nor did he stop till he arrived at Traquair, six- 
teen miles from the field of battle. Upon Philip- 
haugh he lost, in one defeat, the fruit of six 
splendid victories : nor was he again able effectu- 
ally to make head, in Scotland, against the cove- 
nanted cause. The number slain in the field did 
not exceed three or four hundred ; for the fugi- 
tives found refuge in the mountains, which had 
often been the retreat of vanquished armies, and 
were impervious to the pursuer's cavalry. Lesly 
abused his victory, and dishonoured his arms, by 
slaughtering, in cold blood, many of the prisoners 
whom he had taken ; and the court-yard of 
Newark castle is said to have been the spot, upon 
which they were shot by his command. Many 

Y others are said, by Wishart, to have been preci* 



524 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



pitated from a high bridge over the Tweed. This, ^extricated himself with the most singular ability. 



as Mr Laing remarks, is impossible ; because 
there was not a bridge over the Tweed betwixt 
Peebles and Berwick. But there is an old bridge 
over the Ettrick, only four miles from Philip- 
haugh, and another over the Yarrow, both of 
which lay in the very line of flight and pursuit ; 
and either might have been the scene of the 
massacre. But if this is doubtful, it is too cer- 
tain, that several of the royalists were executed 
by the Covenanters, as traitors to the king and 
parliament. * 

I have reviewed, at some length, the details of 
this memorable engagement, which, at the sar.:e 
time, terminated the. career of a hero, likened, 
by no mean judge of mankind, f to those of anti- 
quity, and decided the fate of his country. It is 
further remarkable, as the last field which was 
fought in Ettrick forest, the scene of so many 
bloody actions. The unaccountable neglect of 
patroles, and the imprudent separation betw'xt 
the horse and foot, seem to have been the imme- 
diate causes of Montrose's defeat. But the ardent 
and impetuous character of tlm great warrior, 
corresponding with that of the troops which he 
commanded, was better calculated for attack 
than defence ; for surprising others, rather than 
for providing against surprise himself. Thus, he 
suffered loss by a sudden attack upon part of his 



he must have lost his whole army, when sur- 
prised by Baillie, during the plunder of Dundee. 
Nor has it escaped an ingenious modern historian, 
that his final defeat at Dunbeat so nearly resem- 
bles in its circumstances the surprise at Philip- 
haugh, as to throw some shade on his military 
talents. — Laing's History. 

The following ballad, which is preserved by 
tradition in Selkirkshire, coincides accurately 
with historical fact. This, indeed, constitutes its 
sole merit. The Covenanters were not, I dare 
say, addicted more than their successors, "to 
the profane and unprofitable art of poem-mak- 
ing.'^ Still, however, they could not refrain 
from some strains of exultation, over the defeat 
of the truculent tyrant, James Grahame. For, 
gentle reader, Montrose, who, with resources 
which seemed as none, gained six victories, and 
reconquered a kingdom ; who, a poet, a scholar, 



Court de G-uard ; a brave gentleman, and one of 
the noblest captains amongst all the Highlanders 
of Scotland. Two or three others were killed, 
and some (taken prisoners) had to Edinburgh, 
and cast into irons in the tolbooth. Great lam- 
entation was made for this gallant, being still 
the king"s man for life and death." — SpalJing, 
vol. ii. p. 281. The journalist, to whom all mat- 
ters were of equal importance, proceeds to inform 
forces, stationed at Aberdeen; £ and, had he not i j us, that Hurry took the marquis of Huntly's best 

I j horse, and, in hia retreat through Montrose, 
seized upon the marquis's second son. He also 
expresses his regret, that "the said Donald Far- 
quharson's body was found in the street, stripped 
naked : for they tirr'd from off his body a rich 
stand of apparel, but put on the same day.'' — 
Ibid. 

§ So little was the spirit of illiberal fanaticism 
decayed in some parts of Scotland, that so lata 
as the year 1767, when Wilson, the ingenious 
author of a poem called "Clyde," now repub- 
lished, was inducted into the office of schoolmas- 
ter at Greenock, he was obliged formally, and in 
writing, to abjure the " profane and unprofita- 
ble art of poem-making." It is proper to add, 
that such an incident is now as unlikely to hap- 
pen in Greenock as in London. 



* A covenanted minister, present at the exe- 
cution of these gentlemen, observed, " This wark 
gaes bonnilie on ! " an amiable exclamation, 
equivalent to the modern " ga ira," so often used 
on similar occasions. — Wishart's Memoirs of Mon- 
trose. 

f Cardinal du Retz. 

$ Colonel Hurry, with a party of horse, sur- 
prised the town, while Montrose's Highlanders 
and cavaliers were "dispersed through the town, 
drinking carelessly in their lodgings ; and, hear- 
ing the horses' feet, and great noise, were aston- 
ished, never dreaming of their enemy. However, 
Donald Farquharson happened to come to the 
causey, where he was cruelly slain, anent the 



BALLADS OX THE CIVIL WARS 



525 



a cavalier, and a general, could have graced alike 
a court, and governed a camp; * this Montrose 
was numbered, by his covenanted countrymen, 
among ** the troublers of Israel, the fire-brands 
of hell, the Corahs, the Balaams, the Doegs, the 
Rabshakahs, the Hamans, the Tobiahs, and San- 
ballats of the time." 



On Philiphaugh a fray began, 
At Hairhead wood it ended ; 

The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran, 
Sae merrily they bended. 

Sir David frae the border came, 
TV r i' heart an' hand came he ; 

Wi' him three thousand bonnie Scots, 
To bear him company. 

Wi' him three thousand valiant men, 

A noble sight to see ! 
A cloud o' mist them weel concealed, 

As close as e'er might be. 

When they came to the Shaw burn, f 
Said he, " Sae weel we frame, 

I think it is convenient, 

That we should sing a psalm.'-' $ 

When they came to the Lingly burn, § 

As day-light did appear, 
They spy'd an aged father, || 

And he did draw them near. 



* [Sir Walter's well-known predilections for 
Montrose and his party will, of course, warn the 
reader to take his estimate of that hero's conduct 
and character cum grano salis.] 

f A small stream, that joins the Ettvick, near j 
Selkirk, on the south side of the river. — Scott. 

± Various reading ; — 

" That we should take a dram." — Scott. 

§ A brook, which falls into the Ettrick, from , 
the north, a little above the Shaw burn. — Scott. ! 

| The traditional commentary upon the ballad I 
states this man's name to have been Brydone, "i 



" Come hither, aged father ! " 

Sir David he did cry, 
" And tell me where Montrose lies, 

With all his great army. 

" But, first, you must come tell to me, 

If friends or foes you be ; 
I fear you are Montrose's men, 

Come frae the north country." 



ancestor to several families in the parish of Et- 
trick, particularly those occupying the farms of 
Midgehope and Redford Green. It is a strange 
anachronism, to make this aged father state him- 
self at the battle of " Sol way flow," which was 
fought a hundred years before Philiphaugh ; and 
a still stranger, to mention that of Dunbar, 
which did not take place till five ytars after 
Montrose's defeat. 

A tradition, annexed to a copy of this ballad, 
transmitted to me by Mr James Hogg, bears, 
that the earl of Traquair, on the day of the bat- 
tle, was advaiicing with a large sum of money, 
for the payment of Montrose's forces, attended 
by a blacksmith, one of his retainers. As they 
crossed Minch-mo; r, they were alarmed by firing, 
which the earl conceived to be Montrose exercis- 
ing his forces, but which his attendant, from the 
constancy and irregularity of the noise, affirmed 
to be the tumult of an engagement. As they 
came below Broadmeadows, upon Yarrow, they 
met their fugitive friends, hotly pursued by the 
parliamentary troopers. The earl, of course, 
turned, and fled also : but his horse, jaded with 
the weight of dollars which he carried, refused to 
take the hill ; so that the earl was fain to ex- 
change with his attendant, leaving him with the 
breathless horse, and bag of silver, to shift for 
himself; which he is supposed to have done very 
effectually. Some of the dragoons, attracted by 
the appearance of the horse and trappings, gave 
chase to the smith, who fled up the Yarrow ; but 
finding himself, as he said, encumbered with the 
treasure, and unwilling that it should be taken, 
he flung it into a well, or pond, near the Tinnies, 
above Hangingshaw. Many wells were after- 
wards searched in vain ; but it is the general 
belief, that the smith, if he ever hii the money, 
knew too well how to anticipate the scrutiny. 
There is, however, a pond, which some peasants 
began to drain, not long ago, in hopes of finding 
the golden prize, but were prevented, as they 
pretended, by supernatural interference.— Scott. 






528 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



** No, we are nane o' Montrose's men, 

Nor e'er intend to be; 
I am Sir David Lesly, 

That's speaking unto thee/' 

" If you're Sir David Lesly, 

As I think weel ye be, 
I'm sorry ye ha'e brought so few 

Into your company. 

" There's fifteen thousand armed men, 

Encamped on yon lee ; 
Ye'll never be a bite to them, 

For aught that I can see. 

" But, halve your men in equal parts, 

Your purpose to fulfil ; 
Let ae half keep the water side, 

The rest gae round the hill. 

**. Your nether party fire must, 

Then beat a flying drum ; 
And then they'll think the day's their ain, 

And frae the trench they'll come. 

" Then, those that are behind them maun 
Gi'e shot, baith grit and sma' ; 

And so, between your armies twa, 
Ye may make them to fa'." 

" O were ye ever a soldier ?" 

Sir David Lesly said ; 
" O yes ; I was at Sol way flow, 

Where we were all betray 'd. 

" Again I was at curst Dunbar, 

And was a pris'ner ta'en : 
And many weary night and day, 

In prison I ha'e lien." 

"If ye will lead these men aright, 

Rewarded shall ye be ; 
But, if that ye a traitor prove, 

I'll hang thee on a tree." 

" Sir, I will not a traitor prove ; 

Montrose has plundered me ; 
I'll do my best to banish him 

Away frae this country." 

He halv'd his men in equal parts, 

His purpose to fulfil ; 
The one part kept the water side, 

The other gaed round the hiil. 



The nether party fired brisk, 
Then turn'd and seem'd to rin ; 

And then they a' came frae the trench, 
And cry'd, " The day's our ain !" 

The rest then ran into the trench, 
And loos'd their cannons a' : 

And thus, between his armies twa, 
He made them fast to fa'. 

Now, let us a* for Lesly pray, 

And his brave company i 
For they ha'e vanquish'd great Montrose, 

Our cruel enemy. 



f£3)£ ffiallant ffiEaj&airo*. 

["The preceding ballad," says Sir "Walter 
Scott, " was a song of triumph over the defeat of 
Montrose at Philiphaugh; the verses, which fol- 
| low, are a lamentation for his final discomfiture 
j and cruel death. The present edition of 'The 
Gallant Grahams ' is given from tradition, en- 
J lavged and corrected byarTancient printed edi- 
| tion, entitled, 'The Gallant Grahams of Scot- 
land,' to the tune of ' I w ill away, and 1 will nat 
tarry,' of which Mr Eitson favoured the editor 
I with an accurate copy. 

j " The conclusion of Montrose's melancholy his- 
! tory is too well known. The Scottish army, 
| which sold king Charles I. to his parliament, had, 
! we may charitably h< >pe, no idea that they were 
I bartering his blood; although they must have 
j been aware, that they were consigning him to 
! perpetual bondage. * At least the sentiments of 
I the kingdom at large differed widely from those 
| of the military merchants, and the danger of 
king Charles drew into England a well-appointed 
Scottish army, under the command of the duke 
of Hamilton. But he met with Cromwell, and 
to meet with Cromwell was inevitable defeat. 
The death of Charles, and the triumph of the In- 
dependents, excited still more highly the hatred 
and the fears of the Scottish nation. The out- 
witted Presbyterians, who saw, too late, that 

* "As Salmasius quaintly, but truly, expresses it, 
' Presbyteriani ligaveruut, ludependautes Lrucidave- 



BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WAR3. 



527 



their own hands had been employed in the hate- { 
ful task of erecting the power of a sect, yet more 
fierce and fanatical than themselves, deputed a 
commission to the Hague, to treat with Charles 
II., whom, upon certain conditions, they now 
wished to restore to the throne of his fathers. At 
the court of the exiled monarch, Montrose also 
offered to his acceptance a splendid plan of vic- 
tory and conquest, and pressed for his permission 
to enter Scotland ; and there, collecting the re- 
mains of tha royalists, to clam the crown for his 
master, with the sword in his hand. An able 
statesman might perhaps have reconciled these 
jarring projects ; a good man would certainly 
have made a decided choice betwixt them. Charles 
was neither the one nor the other ; and, while 
he treated with the Presbyterians, with a view of 
accepting the crown from their hands, he scru- 
pled not to authorise Montrose, the mortal enemy 
of the sect, to pursue his separate and inconsist- 
ent plan of conquest. 

"Montrose arrived in the Orkneys with six 
hundred Germans, was furnished with some re- 
cruits from those islands, and was joined by 
several royalists, as he traversed the wilds of 
Caithness and Sutherland ; but, advancing into 
Ross-shire, he was surprised, and totally defeated, 
by colonel Strachan, an officer of the Scottish 
parliament, who had distinguished himself in the 
civil wars, and who afterwards became a decided 
Cromwellian. Montrose, after a fruitless resist- 
ance, at length fled from the field of d- f at, and 
concealed himself in the grounds of Macleod of 
Assaint, to whose fidelity he entrusted his life, 
and by whom he was delivered up to Lesly, his 
most bitter enemy. 

" He was tried for what was termed treason 
against the estates of the kingd >m ; and. despite 
the commission of Charles for his proceedings, 
he was condemnel to die by a parliament, who 
acknowledged Chades to be their king, and 
whom, on that account only, Montrose acknow- 
ledged to be a parliament. 

" •' The clergy,' says a late animated historian, 
' whose vocation it was to persecute the repose of 
his last moments, sought, by the- terrors of his 
sentence, to extort repentance; but his behav- 
iour, firm and dignified to the end, repelled their 
insulting advancs with scorn and disdain. He 
was prouder, he replied, tJ have his head affixed 
to the prison -walls, than to have his picture 
placed in the king's bed-chamber : 'and, fir from 
being troubled that my limbs are to be sent to 
your principal cities, I wish I had flesh enough 



to be dispersed through Christendom, to attest 
my dying attachment to my king." It was the 
calm employment of his mind, that night, to re- 
duce this extravagant sentiment to verse. }1c 
appeared next day on the scaffold, in a rich habit, 
with the same serene and undaunted counte- 
nance, and addressed the people, to vindicate his 
dying unabsolved by the church, rather than to 
justify an invasion of the kingdom, during a 
treaty with the estates. The insults of his ene- 
mies were not yet exhausted. The history of his 
exploits was attached to his neck by the public 
executioner; but he smiled at their inventive 
malice ; declared, that he wore it with more 
pride than he had done the garter ; and, when 
his devotions were finished, demanding if any 
more indignities remained to be practised, sub- 
mitted calmly to an unmerited fate.' — Laing's 
History of Scotland, vol. i. p 404. 

"Such was the death of James Graham, the 
great marquis of Montrose, over whom some 
lowly bard has poured forth the following elegiac 
verses. To say, that they are far unworthy of 
the subject, is no great rep oach ; for a nobler 
poet might have failed in the attempt. Indiffer- 
ent as the ballad is, we may regret its being still 
more degraded by many apparent corruptions. 
There seems an attempt to trace Montrose's 
career, from his first raising the royal standard, 
to his second expedition and death , but it is in- 
terrupted and imperfect. From the concluding 
stanza, I presume the song was composed upon 
the arrival of Charles in Scotland, which so 
speedily followed the execution of Montrose, that 
the king entered the city while the head of his 
most faithful and most successful adherent was 
still blackening in the sun."] 

Now, fare thee well, sweet Ennerdale .' * 
Baith kith and countrie I bid adieu ; 

For I maun away, and I may not stay, 

To some uncouth land which I never knew. 

To wear the blue I think it best, 

Of all the colours that I see ; 
And I'll wear it for the gallant Grahams, 

That are banished from their countrie. 



* A corruption of Endrickdale. The principal 
and most ancient possessions of the Montrose 
I family lie along the water of Endrick, in Dura- 
r bartonshire. — Scott. 






528 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



1 have no gold, 1 have no land, 

1 have no pearl nor precious stane ; 

But I wald sell my silken snood, 

To see the gallant Grahams come name. 

In Wallace' days, when they began, 

Sir John the Graham did bear the gree * 

Through all the lands of Scotland wide ; 
He was a lord of the south countrie. 

And so was seen full many a time; 

For the summer flowers did never spring, 
But every Graham, in armour bright, 

Would then appear before the king. 

They all were drest in armour sheen, 
Upon the pleasant banks of Tay ; 

Before a king they might be seen, 

These gallant Grahams in their array. 

At the Goukhead our camp we set, 
Our leaguer down there for to lay ; 

And, in the bonnie summer light, 

We rode our white horse and our gray. 

Our false commander sold our king 

Unto his deadly enemie, 
Who was the traitor, Cromwell, f then ; 

So I care not what they do with me. 



* The faithful friend and adherent of the im- 
mortal Wallace, slain at the battle of Falkirk.— 
Scott. 

f This extraordinary character, to whom, in 
crimes and in success, our days only have pro- 
duced a parallel, was no favourite in Scotland. 
There occurs the following invective against him, 
in a MS. in the Advocates' Library. The humour 
consists in the dialect of a Highlander, speaking 
English, and confusing Cromwell with Gramach, 
ugly •— 

Te commouvvelt, tat Gramach ting, 

Gar brek hem's word, gar cie hem's king; 

Gar pay hem's se.sse, or take hem's (geers) 

We'l no de at, del come de leers ; 

AVe'l bide a file aunang te crowes, (i. e. in the woods) 

We'l scor te sword, and whiske te bowes ; 

And fen her nen-sel se te re, (the king) 

To del my care for Gromaghee. 



* [Sir Walter here alludes to Napoleon, who, at the 
time these Notes were written, was an object of dread 
and hatred to the legitimists of Europe.] 



They have betrayed our noble prince, 

And banish 'd him from his royal crown ; 

But the gallant Grahams have ta'en in hand, 
For to command those traitors down 



The following tradition, concerning Cromwell, 
is preserved by an uncommonly direct line of 
traditional evidence ; being narrated (as I am 
informed) by the grandson of an eye-witness. 
When Cromwell, in 1650, entered Glasgow, he 
attended divine service in the high church: but 
the Presbyterian divine, who officiated, poured 
forth, with more zeal than prudence, the vial of 
his indignation upon the person, principles, and 
cause, of the independent general. One of Crom- 
well's officers rose, and whispered his com- 
mander; who seemed to give him a short and 
stern answer, and the sermon was concluded 
without interruption. An ong the crowd, who 
were assembled to gaze at the general, as he came 
out of the church, was a shoemaker, the son of 
one of James the Sixth's Scottish footmen. This 
man had been born and bred in England, but, 
after his father's death, had settled in Glasgow. 
Cromwell eyed him among the crowd, and im- 
mediately called him by his name — the man fled : 
but, at Cromwell's command, one of his retinue 
followed him, and brought him to the general's 
lodgings. A number of the inhabitants re- 
mained at the door, waiting the end of this ex- 
traordinary scene. The shoemaker soon came 
out, in high spirits, and, showing some gold, 
declared, he was going to drink Cromwell's 
health. Many attended him to hear the parti- 
culars of his interview; a^r.ong others the grand- 
father of the narrator. The shoemaker sail, that 
he had been a playfellow of Cromwell, when they 
were both boys, their parents residing in the 
same street ; that he had fled, when the general 
first called to him, thinking he might owe him 
some ill-will, on account of his father being in 
the service of the royal family. He added, that 
Cromwell had been so very kind and familiar with 
him, that he ventured to ask him, what the offi- 
cer had said to him in the church. " He pro- 
posed," said Cromwell, " to pull forth the min- 
ister by the ears; and I answered, that the 
preacher was one fool and he another." In the 
course of the day, Cromwell held an interview 
with the minister, and contrived to satisfy his 
scruples so effectually, that the evening discourse, 
by the same man, was tuned to the praise and 
^ glory of the victor of Naseby.— Scott. 



BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WARS. 



529 



In Glen-Prosen * we rendezvoused; 

March'd to G-lenshie by night and day, 
■ And took the town of Aberdeen, 

And met the Campbells in their array. 

Five thousand men, in armour strong, 

Did meet the gallant Grahams that day 
At Inverlochie, where war began, 

And scarce two thousand men were they. 
I 
Gallant Montrose, that chieftain bold, 

Courageous in the best degree, 
Did for the king fight well that day ; 

The lord preserve his majestic 

Nathaniel Gordon, stout and bold, 
Did for king Charles wear the blue ; f 



* Glen-Prosen, in Angus-shire. — Scott. 

f This gentleman was of the ancient family of 

Gordon of Gight. He had served, as a soldier, 

upon the continent, and acquired great military 

V* skill. When his chief, the marquis of Huntly, 

(y^\ | took up arms in 1640, Nathaniel Gordon, then 

\J=^fj called Major Gordon, joined him, and was of 

/S=r\ essential service during that short insurrection. 

J But, being checked for making prize of a Danish 

nj/x fisnin g buss he left the service of the marquis, in 

y~ some disgust. In 1644, he assisted at a sharp 

i and dexterous camisade (as it was then called,) 

Fg^f when the barons of Haddo, of Gight, of Drum, 

y and other gentlemen, with only sixty men under 

their standard, galloped through the old town of 

^>£/ Aberdeen, and, entering the burgh itself, about 

/C<i >\ „ seven in the morning, made prisoners, and car- 

?\ ried off, four of the covenanting magistrates, and 

effected a safe retreat, though the town was then 

\^(7^~) under the domination of the opposite party. 

y $ After the death of the baron of Haddo, and the 

//5\ severe treatment of Sir George Gordon of Gight, 

1|?/ his cousin-gorman, Major Nathaniel Gordon 

seems to have taken arms, in despair of finding 

mercy at the covenanters' hands. On the 24th 

VcTs/ of July, 1645, he came down, with a band of 

horsemen, upon the town of Elgin, while St 

I James' fair was held, and pillaged the merchants 

of 14,000 roerks of money and merchandize. He 

) seems to have joined Montrose, as so:>n as he 

^ ■ > X5 | raised the royal standard; and, as a bold and 

[Cl*) active partizan, rendered him great service. But, 

in November 1614, Gordon, now a colonel, sud- 



But the cavaliers they all were sold, 
And brave Harthill, a cavalier too. 



reconciled himself to the kirk, by doing penance 
for adultery, and for the almost equally heinous 
crime of having scared Mr. Andrew Cant, the 
famous apostle of the covenant. This, however, 
seems to have been an artifice, to arrange a cor- 
respondence betwixt Montrose and Lord Gordon, 
a gallant young nobleman, representative of the 
Huntly family, and inheriting their loyal spirit, 
though hitherto engaged in the service of the 
covenant. Colonel Gordon was successful, and 
returned to the royal camp with his converted 
chief. Both followed zealously the fortunes of j 
Montrose, until Lord Gordon fell in the battle of ' 
Alford, and Nathaniel Gordon was taken at 
Philiphaugh. He was one of ten loyalists, de- 
voted upon that occasion, by the parliament, to 
expiate with their blood the crime of fidelity to 
their king. Nevertheless, the covenanted nobles 
would have probably been satisfied with the death 
of the gallant Pollock, sharer of Montrose's dan- 
gers and glory, of Ogilvy, a youth of eighteen, 
whose crime was the hereditary feud betwixt his ' 
family and Argyle, and of Sir Philip Nisbet, a 
cavalier of the ancient stamp, had not the pul- 
pits resounded with the cry, that God required 
the blood of the malignants, to expiate the sins 
of the people. " What meaneth," exclaimed the 
ministers, in the perverted language of scripture 
— " What meaneth, then, this bleating of the 
sheep in my ears, and the lowing of the oxen ?" 
The appeal to the judgment of Samuel was de- 
cisive, and the shambles were instantly opened. 
Nathaniel Gordon was brought first to execution . I 
He lamented the sins of his youth, once more 
(and probably with greater sincerity) requested 
absolution from the sentence of excommunication 
pronounced on account of adultery, and was be- 
headed 6th January, 1646.— Scott. 

$ Leith, of Harthill, was a determined loyalist, 
and hated the covenanters, not without reason. 
His father, a haughty high-spirited baron, and 
chief of a clan, happened, in 1639, to sit down in 
the desk of Provost Lesly, in the high kirk of 
Aberdeen. He was disgracefully thrust out by 
the officers, and, using some threatening language 
to the provost, was imprisoned, like a felon, for 
many months, till he became furious, and nearly 
mad. Having got free of the shackles, with 
which he was loaded, he used his liberty by com- 



denly deserted Montrose, aided the escape of 

Forbes of Craigievar, one of his prisoners, and «fr ing to the tolbooth window, where be uttered 



And Newton Gordon, burd-alone, * 
And Dalgatie, both stout and keen, f 

And gallant Veitch upon the field, $ 
A braver face was never seen. 



the most violent and horrible threats against 
provost Lesly, and the other covenanting magis- 
trates, by whom he had been so severely treated. 
Under pretence of this new offence, he was sent 
to Edinburgh, and lay long in prison there; for, 
so fierce was his temper, that no one would give 
surety for his keeping the peace with his enemies, 
if set at liberty. At length he was delivered by 
Montrose, when he made himself master of Edin- 
burgh.— Spalding, vol. i. pp. 201, 266. His house 
of Harthill was dismantled, and miserably pil- 
laged by Forbes of Craigievar, who expelled his 
wife and children, with the most relentless inhu- 
manity. — Ibid. vol. ii. p. 225. Meanwhile, young 
Harthill was the companion and associate of 
Nathaniel Gordon, whom he accompanied at 
plundering the fair of Elgin, and at most of 
Montrose's engagements. He retaliated severely 
on the covenanters, by ravaging and burning 
their lands.— Ibid. vol. ii. p. 301. His fate has 
escaped my notice. — Scott. 

* Newton, for obvious reasons, was a common 
appellation of an estate, or barony, where a new 
edifice had been erected. Hence, for distinction's 
sake, it was anciently compounded with the 
name of the proprietor; as, Newton-Edmon- 
stone, Newton-Don, Newton-Gordon, &c. Of 
Gordon of .New-town, I only observe, that he 
was, like all his clan, a steady loyalist, and a fol- 
lower of Montrose. — Scott. 

f Sir Francis Hay, of Dalgatie, a steady cava- 
lier, and a gentleman of great gallantry and 
accomplishment. He was a faithful follower of 
Montrose, and was taken prisoner with him at 
his last fatal battle. He was condemned to 
death, with his illustrious general. Being a Ro- 
man Catholic, he refused the assistance of the 
Presbyterian clergy, and was not permitted, even 
on the scaffold, to receive ghostly comfort, in the 
only form in which his religion taught him to 
consider it as effectual. He kissed the axe, 
avowed his fidelity to his sovereign, and died like 
a soldier. — Montrose's Memoirs, p. 322. — Scott. 

% I presume this gentleman to have been David 
Veitch, brother to Veitch of Dawick, who, with 
many other of the Peebles-sbire gentry, was taken 
at Philiphaugh. The following curiou9 accident 
took place, some years afterwards, in consequence ^ 




Now, fare- ye weel, sweet Ennerdale ! 

Countrie and kin I quit ye free ; 
Chear up your hearts, brave cavaliers, 

For the Grahams are gone to high Germany. 

Now brave Montrose he went to France, 
And to Germany, to gather fame ; 

And bold Aboyne is to the sea, § 
Young Huntly is his noble name. 



of his loyal zeal : — " In the year 1653, when the 
loyal party did arise inarms against the English, 
in the North and West Highlands, some noble- 
men, and loyal gentlemen, with others, were 
forward to repair to them, with such forces as 
they could make ; which the English with mar- 
velouse diligence, night and day, did bestir them- 
selves to impede ; making their troops of horse 
and dragoons to pursue the loyal party in all 
places, that they might not come to such a con- 
siderable number as was designed. It happened, 
one night, that one Captain Masoun, commander 
of a troop of dragoons, that came from Carlisle, 
in England, marching through the town of San- 
quhar, in the night, was encountered by one 
Captain Palmer, commanding a troop of horse, 
that came from Ayr, marching eastward ; and, 
meeting at the tollhouse, or tolbooth, one David 
Veitch, brother to the laird of Dawick, in Tweed* 
dale, and one of the loyal party, being prisoner 
in irons by the English, did arise, and came to 
the window at their meeting, and cryed out, 
that they should fight valiantly for King Charles. 
Where-through, they, taking each other for the 
loyal party, did begin a brisk fight, which con* 
tinued for a while, till the dragoons, having spent 
their shot, and finding the horsemen to be too 
strong for them, did give ground : but yet retired, 
in some order, towards the castle of Sanquhar, 
being hotly pursued by the troop, through the 
whole town, above a quarter of a mile, till they 
came to the castle ; where both parties did, to 
their mutual grief, become sensible of their mis- 
take. In this skirmish there were several killed 
on both sides, and captain Palmer -himself dan- 
gerously wounded, with many more wounded in 
each troop, who did peaceably dwell together 
afterward for a time, until their wounds nero 
cured, in :^anquhar castle." — Account of Presby- 
tery of Penpont, in Macfarlane's MSS. — Scott. 

§ James, earl of Aboyne, who fled to Fiance, 
and there died heart-broken. It is said, his death 
was accelerated by the news of King Charles's 




Montrose again, that ehieftain bold, 
Back unto Scotland fair he came, 

For to redeem fair Scotland's land, 

The pleasant, ga lant, worthy Graham 

At the water of Carron he did begin, 
And fought the battle to the end; 

And there were killed, for cur noble king, 
Two thousand of our Danish men. - 



Gilbert Menzies, of high degree, 

By whom the king's banner was borne ; £ 
For a brave cavalier was he, 

But now to glory he is gone. 

Then woe to Straehan, and Hacket baith ! £ 
And Lesly, ill death may thou die ! 

For ye have betrayed the gallant Grahams, 
Who aye were true to majestie. 

And the laird of Assint has seized Montrose, 
And had him into Edinburgh town, 

And frae his body taken the head, 
And quartered him upon a trone. 

And Huntly's gone the self-same way, § 
And our noble king is also gone; 

He suffered death for our nation, 

Our mourning tears can ne'er be done. 



r execution. He became representative of the 

|| Gordon family, or " Young Huntly," as the bal- 

f\f*l lad expresses it, in consequence of the death of 

■ "V _■/ his elder brother, George, who fell in the battle 

v, ;=J. |A of Alford. — History of Gordon family. — Scott. 

* Montrose's foreign auxiliaries, who, by the 

« way, did not exceed 600 in all. — Scott. 

^(20 + Gilbert Menzies, younger of Pitfoddells, car- 

^— 'jn? ried the royal banner in Montrose's last battle. 

._ ) It bore the headless corpse of Charles I., with 

j vr^ tfiis motto, " Judge and revenge my cause, O | 

H Lord ! " JNlenzies proved himself worthy of this j 

1 noble trust, and, obstinately refusing quarter, ! 

-v died in defence of his charge. — Montrose's Me- j 

Tj] tnoirs. — Scott. 

TH=U t Sir Charles Hacket, an officer in the service j 

^o (pf) of tlie estates Scott. 

oy /£-s~ § George Gordon, second marquis of Huntly, 

//-*"S\ one of the very few nobles in Scotland, who had 

: ) uniformly adhered to the king from the very be- 

y ginning of the troubles, was beheaded by the 

7 - -\ sentence of the parliament of Scotland (so filing 

5^\J themselves,) upon the 22d March, lt>49, or 



But our brave young king is now come home, /j= 

King Charles the Second in degree ; 
The Lord send peace into his time, 

And God preserve his majestie i 



an** 3®il3 



[" We have observed the early antipathy," says <v^C 

Sir Walter, " mutually entertained by the Scot- \ ft*) 

tish Presbyterians and the house of Stuart. It /W 

seems to have glowed in the breast even of the Lni 

good-natured Charles II. He might have reniem- V; 

bered, that, in 1551, the Presbyterians had fought, /\^ 

bled, and ruined themselves in his cause. But \^_ 

he rather recollected their early faults than their ^b4 

late repentance ; and even their services were .^H 

combined with the recollection of the absurd and t \^= 

humiliating circumstances of personal degrada- ^40 

tion, || to which their pride and fully had sub- yt 
jected him, while they professed to espouse his 



month and twenty-two days after the martyrdom 
of his master. He has been much blamed for not 
cordially co-operating with Montrose ; and 
Bishop Wishart, in the zeal of partiality for his 
hero, accuses Huntly of direct treachery. But 
he is a true believer, who seals, with his blood, 
his creed, religious or political ; and there are 
many reasons, short of this foul charge, which 
may have dictated the backward conduct of 
Huntly towards Montrose. He could not for- 
get, that, when he first stood out for the king ; 
Montrose, then the soldier of the covenant, had 
actually made him prisoner; and we cannot 
suppose Huntly to have been so sensible of Mon- 
trose's supe:ior military talents, as not to think 
himself, as equal in rank, superior in power, and 
more uniform in loyalty, entitled to equally high 
marks of royal trust and favour. Thus much is 
certain, that the gallant clan of Gordon contri- 
buted greatly to Montrose's success ; for the gen- 
tlemen of that name, with the brave and loyal 
Ogilvies, composed the principal part of his 
cavalry. — Scott. 

|| "Among other ridiculous occurrences, it is 
said, that some of Charles's gallantries were dis- 
covered by a prying neighbour. A wily old min- 
ister was deputed by his brethren to rebuke th<» 



i%n 532 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






;aus j . As a man of pleasure, he hated their % 
I W'aS stern and inflexible rigour, which stigmatised i 
\C~f>4 follies even more deeply than crimes ; and he 
*^>R\ whispered to his confidants, that ' presbytery : 
£_ fj* was no religion for a gentleman.' It is not; 
therefore, wonderful, that, in the first year of his | 
restoration, he formally re-established prelacy in i 
WX?( Scotland; but it is surprising, that, with his I 
ather's example before his eyes, he should not I 
p, have been satisfied to leave at freedom the con- j 
sciences of those who could not reconcile them- j 
V vL^J selves to the new system. The religious opinions j 
J^r<i of sectaries have a tendency, like the water of 
/"»QIM some springs, to become soft and mild, when 
^r -^#\. freely exposed to the open day. Who can recog- 
nise, in the decent and industrious quakers, and 
( -" ■ c7 anabaptists, the wild and ferocious tenets which 
^^\ distinguished their sects, while they were yet 
rV <9^g honoured with the distinction of the scourge and 
;: illory ? Had the system of coercion against 
the Presbyterians been continued until our day, 
Blair and Robertson would have preached in the 
wilderness, and only discovered their powers of 
eloquence and composition, by rolling along a j 
deeper torrent of gloomy fanaticism. 

" The western counties distinguished them- j 

selves by their opposition to the prelatic system. | 

Three hundred and fifty ministers, ejected from \ 

their churches and livings, wandered through ! 

the mountains, sowing the seeds of covenanted j 

t y^z r \ doctrine, while multitudes of fanatical followers 

..ursued them, to reap the forbidden crop. These' 

jonven tides, as they were called, were denounced 

oy'the law, and their frequenters dispersed by i 

\e>|" j military force. The genius of the persecuted be- i 

/^ e\ came stubborn, obstinate, and ferocious; and, j 

iihough indulgences were tardily granted to | 

.sjjme Presbyterian ministers, few of the true | 

XlfY) covenanters (; r whigs, as they were called, would ' 

finely/, condescend to compound with a prelatic govern- j 

/"^irS ment, or to listen even to their own favourite i 

USto J doctrine under the auspices of the king. Prom j 

Richard Cameron, their apostle, this rigid sect j 

squired the name of Cameronians. Theypreach- 

y ^j king for this heinous scandal. Being introduced 
^ ^J into the royal presence, he limited his commission 
^» Ci^f) to a sei *i° us admonition, that, upon such occa- 
eY/^ci sions, his majesty should always shut the win- 
[p* jv dows. The king is said to have recompensed this 
{ J--) unexpected lenity after the Restoration. He 
probably remembered the joke, though he might 
^^•-==- have forgotten the service."— Scott. i 



d mag- . 

1 it has 

ery im- L ^\ 



>ed and prayedagainst the indulgence, and against 
the Presbyterians who availed themselves of it, 
because their accepting this royal boon was a 
tacit acknowledgment of the king's supremacy 
in ecclesiastical matters. 

" The insurrection, commemorated and i 
nified in the following ballad, as indeed i 
been in some histories, was, in itself, no very i 
portant affair. It began in Dumfries-shire, | 
where Sir James Turner, a soldier of fortune, 
was employed to levy the arbitrary fines imposed f ^'- 
for not attending the episcopal churches. The ^L^/ 
people rose, seized his person, disarmed his sol- T^Xl^ 
diers, and, having continued together, resolved \r^ J 
to march towards Edinburgh, expecting to be - 
joined by their friends in that quarter. In this 
they were disappointed; and, being now dimin- \ef[y 
ished to half their numbers, they drew up on the I J\^\ 
Pentland hills, at a place called Rullien Green, g 
They were commanded by one Wallace; and 
here they awaited the approach of General Dal- 
ziel, of Binns; who, having marched to Calder, \y£J3 
to meet them on the Lanark road, and finding, P^>^ 
that, by passing through Collington, they had /^v-t^ 
got to the ether side of the hills, cut through the ! aXSJN 
mountains, and approached them. Wallace V"~""V 
showed both spirit and judgment: he drew up fcrvv) ) 
his men in a very strong situation, and withstood 
two charges of Dalziel's cavalry ; but, upon the £*x^-3 
third siu.ck, the insurgents were broken, and 
utterly dispersed. There was very little slaugh- v 
ter, as the cavalry of Dalziel were chiefly gentle- - 
men, who pitied their oppressed and misguided % r 
countrymen. There were about fifty killed, and f r ' c V/> 
as many made prisoners. The battle was fought \c±\ 
on the 28th November, 1633 ; a day still Observed 
by the scattered remnant of the Cameronian 
sect, who regularly hear a field -preaching upon V 
the field of battle. 

" I am obliged for a copy of the ballad to' Mr. £**^ 
Livingston of Airds, who took it down from the ( *2l Jl 
recitation of an old woman residing on his estate. V?- • 

" The gallant Grahams, mentioned in the text, 
are Graham of Claverhouse's horse."] 

The gallant Grahams cum from the west, r*s3e 

Wi' their horses black as ony craw ; 
The Lothian lads they marched fast, 
To be at the Rhyns o' Gallowa'. 

Betwixt Dumfries town and Argyle, 
The lads they marched mony a mile ; 
Souters and taylors unto them drew, 
Their covenants for to renew. 







The whigs, they, wi' their merry cracks, 
V W c^ Gar*d the poor pedlars lay down their packs ; 
y^-A But aye sinsyne they do repent 
/=" v§?\ ^e reaewin S °' their covenant. 

3m At the ^lauchline muir, where they were re- 
viewed, 
ycJL/K Ten thousand men in armour showed ; 

y^ 4 But, ere they cams to the Brockie's burn, 
(WssS5i The half o' them did back return. 

\J^/ Gen e r al Dalyell, as 1 hear tell, 

<J\~3J w as our lieutenant-general; 

/°v§5 And captain Welsh, "wi* his wit and skill, 

^=- -s* Was to guide them on to the Pentland hill. 

Plftf General Dalyell held to the hill, 

^XX Asking at them what was their will ; 

f/vjl And who gave them this protestation, 

lIII^ To rise in arms against the nation ? 

" Although we all in armour be, 
It's not against his majesty ; 
Nor yet to spill our neighbour's bluid, 
But wi' the country we'll conclude." 

"Lay down your arms, in the king's name, 
And ye shall a' gae safely hame ;" 
But they a' cried out, wi' as consent, 
* ' We'll fight a broken covenant." 

i ~=^±J " O well," says he, "since it is so, 

[ w^^i A willfu' man never wanted woe ; " 

I He then gave a sign unto his lads, 

W^C / And they drew up in their brigades. 

The trumpets blew, and the colours flew, 
HTjiLy And every man to his armour drew ; 
f / ^v/| The whigs w^ere never so much aghast, 
r'- -I'V, As to see their saddles toom sae fast. 

Ls ) The cleverest men stood in the van, 

rhe whigs they took their heels and ran ; 
=^~JH But such a raking was never seen, 
V^xJ As the raking o' the Bullion Green. 



^^ : Kottfton-StlL 

[** The whigs," (continues Sir Walter, in his 
~d valuable historical introductions to the ballads 
j;i the civil wars, — valuable, and, on the whole, l 



impartial in their statements, although the 
writer's sympathies lean to the high church and I 
tory party) — " the whigs, now become desperate, 
adopted* the most desperate principles ; and re- 
taliating, as far as they could, the intolerating 
persecution which they endured, they openly dis- ] 
claimed allegiance to any monarch who should 
not profess presbytery, and subscribe the cove- 
nant.— These principles were not likely to cone: 
liate the favour of government ; and as we wade 
onward in the history of the times, the scenes 
become yet darker. At length, one would ima- 
gine the parties had agreed to divide the kingdom 
of vice betwixt them ; the hunters assuming to 
themselves open profligacy and legalised oppres- 
sion ; and the hunted, the opposite attributes of | 
hypocrisy, fanaticism, disloyalty, and midnight 
assassination. The troopers and cavaliers became 
enthusiasts in the pursuit of the covenanters. If 
^Messrs Kid, King, Cameron, Peden, &c. boasted 
of prophetic powers, and were often warned cf 
the approach of the soldiers, by supernatural im- 
pulse, * captain John Creichton, on the other 
side, dreamed dreams, and saw visions, (chiefly, 
indeed, after having drunk hard,) in which the 
lurking holes of the rebels were discovered to his 
imagination, f Our earsare scarcely more shocked 
with the profane execrations of the persecutors, | 
than with the strange and insolent familiarity 
used towards the Deity by the persecuted fanatics. 



* " In the year 16S4, Peden, one of the Cameronian 
preachers, about ten o'clock at nighr, sitting at the 
lire- side, started up to his feet, and said, 'Fiee, auid 
Saadie, (thus he designed himself,) and hide yourself ! 
for colonel is coming to this house to appre- 
hend you ; and I advise you all to do the like, for he 
wid be here within an hour;' which came to pass: 
and when they had made a very narrow seaica, within 
and without the house, and went round the thora- 
bush, under which he was lying praying, they wem 
off without their prey. He came in. and said, 'And 
has this gentleman (designed by his name) given poor 
S indie, and thir poor things, such a fright ? For this 
night's work, God shall give him such a blow, within 
a few days, that all the physicians on earth shall not 
be able to cure ;' which came to pass, for he died in 
great misery. — Life of Alexander Peden."— Scott. 

f " See the life of this booted apostle to prelacy, 
written by Swift, who had colleced ad his aneodotes 
of persecution, and appears to have enjoyed them ac- 
cordingly." — Seott, 

$ " 'Tueyraved,' saysPeden's historian, 'like £ eshlv 
devils, when the mist shrouded from their pursv.it the 
wandering whigs.' One gentleman closed a declara- 
tion of vengeance against the conveuticiers, with this 
strange imprecation, ' Or may the devil make 
a gridiron to my soul !' — MS." Account of \he 
tery of Penpont. Our armies swore terribly 
ders, bat nothing to this !"— Scott. 






m 



3§> 



Their indecent modes of prayer, their extrava- 
gant expectations of miraculous assistance, and 
their supposed inspirations, might easily furnish 
out a tale, at which the good would sigh* and the 
gay would laugh. * 

" In truth, extremes always approach each 
other ; and the superstition of the Roman Ca- 
tholics was, in some degree, revived, even by their 
most deadly enemies. They are ridiculed, by the 
cavaliers, as wearing the relics of their saints by 
way of amulet : — 

" She showed to. me a box, wherein, lay hid 
The pictures of Cargil and Mr. Kid ; 
A splinter of the tree on which they were slain ; 
A double inch of Major Weir's best cane ; 
Rathiliet's sword, beat down to table kHife; 
Munich took at Magus' Muir a bishop's life ; 
The worthy Welch's spectacles, who saw, 
That windle-straws would fight against the law; 
They, windle-straws, were stoutest of the two, 
They kept their ground, away the prophet flew; 
And li3ts of all the prophets' names were seen 
At Peutland Hills, Aird Moss, and Rullen Green. 
' Don't think,' she says, ' tnese holy things are 
foppery ; 
They're precious antidotes against the power of 

popery.' 
The Cameronian Tooth.— Pennycuick's Poems, p. 110." 

" The militia and standing army soon became 
unequal to the task of enforcing conformity, and 
suppressing conventicles. In their aid, and to 
force compliance with a test, proposed by govern- 
ment, the Highland clans were raised, and poured 
down into Ayrshire, f An armed host of undis- 
ciplined mountaineers, speaking a different lan- 
guage, and professing, many of them, another 
religion, were let loose, to ravage and plunder 
this unfortunate country ; and it is truly aston- 
ishing to find how few acts of cruelty they per- 
petrated, and how seldom they added murder to 
pillage. $ Additional levies of horse were also 



• [Many years after this was written, Sir Walter ex- 
emplified in his own masterly tale of " Old Mortality " 
how much might be made of the subject— a tale which 
has been considered by some as bearing hard upon the 
Covenanters, but which, notwithstanding some draw- 
backs on this head, has been instrumental in making 
their cause and heroic sufferings known to tens < f 
thousands, both in the old and new world, who would 
never otherwise have heard of their name.] 

f " Peden complained heavily, that, after a heavy 
struggle with the devil, he had got above him, spur- 
gaded him hard, and obtained a wind to carry him 
from Ireland to Scotland, when, behold ! another per- 
son had set sail, and reaped the advantage of his 
•prayer-wind' before he could embark."— Scott. 

J " Cleland thus describes this extraordinary army : 



raised, under the same of Independent Troop-*, 
and great part of them placed under the com- ( « j 
marid of James Graham of Claverhouse, a man £>-^ 
well known to fame, by his subsequent title of /£ 
viscount Dundee, but better remembered, in the [/^ [_ 
western shires, under the designation of the Mllb 
Bloody Clavers. In truth, he appears to have V- M- 
combined the virtues and vices of a savage chief. /■' \ ^ 
Fierce, unbending, and rigorous, no emotion off, v ^,' 
compassion prevented his commanding and wit- Jrp 
nessing every detail of military execution against f% 
the non-conformist3. Undauntedly brave, and ( j 
steadily faithful to his prinee, he sacrificed him- ^~- 
self in the eause of James, when he was deserted (Qj° 
by all the world. If we add, to these attributes, /w ■= 
a goodly person, complete skill in martial exer- / ^ 
cises, and that ready and decisive character, so H 
essential to a commander, we may form some r-\\-*_ 
idea of this extraordinary character. The whigs, L c ) \ 
whom he persecuted, daunted by his ferocity and l=r 
courage, conceived him to be impassive to their <pk 
bullets, § and that he had sold himself, for tem- f [ H| 



« — Those, who were their chief sommanJers, 

As such who bore the pirnie standarts, 

Who led the van, and drove the rear, 

Were right weel mounted of their gear ; 

With brogues, and trews, and piruie plaids,. 

With good blue bonnets on their heads, 

Which, on the one side, had a flipe, 

Adorn'd with a tobacco-pipe, 

With durk, and snap-work, and snuff-mill, 

A bag which they with onions fill ; 

And, as their strict observers say, 

A tup-horn filled with usquebay ; 

A klasht out coa* beneath her plaides, 

A targe of timbef, nails, and hides ; 

With a long two-handed sword, 

\s good's the country can afford. 

Had they not need of bulk and bones. 

Who fought with all these arms at once ? 

Of moral honestie they're clean, v§l~' 

Nought like religion they retain ; 

In nothing they're accounted sharp, 

Except in bag-pipe, and in harp ; 

For a misobliging word, V==~ 

She'll durk her neighbour o'er the boord, ^_ _j / 

And then she'll flee like fire from flint, 

She'll scarcely ward the second dint ; 

If any ask her of her thrift, )^T=-S 

Forsooth her nainsell fives by thift.' l*-= ) 

Cleland's Poems, Edin. 1697, p. 12."— Scott. ( j 
§ " It was, and is believed, that the devil furnished rT 
his favourites, among the persecutors, with what l* V§) 
called proof against leaden bullets, but against those C^~^f* 
only. During the battle of Pentlaud-hills, Paton ot Z,°~\\ 
Meadowhead conceived he saw the halls hop harm- ( -^= \ 
lessly down from General Dalziel's boots, and, to 
counteract the spell, loaded his pistol with a piece ol 
silver coin. But Dalziel, having his eye on him» dre* 



^ poral greatness, to the seducer of mankind 
- «\J is still believed, that a cup of wine, presented to j 
E^j him by his butler, changed into clotted blood ; | 
,«(^\ and that, when he plunged his feet into cold \ 
water, their touch caused it to boil. The steed, | 
which bore him, was supposed to be the gift of | 
Satan ; and precipices are shown, where a fox ! 
could hardly keep his feet, down which the infer- j 
|>L — s nal charger conveyed him safely, in pursuit of the j 
||jp wanderers. It is remembered, with terror, that | 
^gT*\ Claverhouse was successful in every engagement j 
V. vQ / with the whigs, except that at Drumclog, or 
~ "-;■ Loudon-hill, which is the subject of the following 
C v3s) hallad. The history of Burly, * the hero of the 
-f\ piece, will bring us immediately to the causes 
=|f7«J and circumstances of that event. 

" John Balfour of Kinloch, commonly called 

^yy'S Burly, was one of the fiercest of the proscribed 

. /'o A sect. A gentleman by birth, he was, says his 

§| biographer, ' zealous and honest-hearted, coura- 

-- geous in every enterprize, and a brave soldier, 

) seldom any escaping that came in his hands.' — 

^Tv)V Life of John Balfour. Creichton says, that he 

~S was once chamberlain to Archbishop Sharpe, 

~ ■'" , and, by negligence, or dishonesty, had incurred 

*>} a large aiTear, which occasioned his being active 

\ in his master's assassination. But of this I know 



back behind his servant, who was shot dead.— Paton's 
Life. At a skirmish, in Ayrshire, some of the wan- 
derers defended themselves'in a sequestered house, by 
the side of a lake. They aimed repeatedly, but in vain, 
at the commander of the assailants, an English officer, 
until, their ammunition running short, one of them 
loaded his piece with the ball at the head of the tongs, 
and succeeded in shooting the hitherto impenetrable 
captain. To accommodate Dundee's fate to their own 
hypothesis, the Cameronian tradition runs, that, in 
the battle of Killicrankie, he fell, not by the enemy's 
fire, but by the pistol of one of his own servants, who, 
to avoid the sped, had loaded it with a silver button 
from his coat. One of their writers argues thus : 
■ Perhaps, some may think this, anent proof-shot, a 
paradox, and be ready to object here, as formerly con- 
cerning Bishop Sharpe and Dalziel— How can the 
devil have, or give, power to save life ? "Without en- 
tering upon the thing in its reality, I shall only ob- 
serve, 1. That it is neither in his power, or of his 
nature, to be a saviour of men's lives ; he is called 
Apollyon, the destroyer. 2. That, even in this case, 
he is said only to give enchantment against one kind 
i of metal, and this does not save life ; for, though lead 
could not take Sharpe and Claverhouse's lives, yet 
steel and silver could do it ; and, for Dalziel, though 
he died not on the field, yet he did not escape the ar- 
rows of the Almighty.'— God's Judgement against 
Persecutors. If the reader be not now convinced of 
the thing in its reality, I have nothing to add to such 
exquisite reasoniug."— Scott. 

* [Afterwards to be immortalized in the tale of 
" Old Mortality," q. v.] 



no other evidence than Creichton's assertion, and 
a hint in Wodrow. Burly (for that is his most 
common designation) was brother in-law to 
Hackston of Rathillet, a wild enthusiastic char- 
acter, who joined daring courage and skill in tha 
sword to the fiery zeal of his sect. Burly, him- 
self, was less eminent for religious fervour, than 
for the active and violent share which he had in 
the most desperate enterprizes of his party. His 
name does not appear among the covenanters, 
who were denounced for the affair of Pentland. 
But, in 1677, Robert Hamilton, afterwards com- 
! mander of the insurgents at Loudon-hill, and 
j Bothwell Bridge, with several other non-con- 
i *brmists, were assembled at this Bully's house, in 
I Fife. There they were attacked by a party of 
i soldiers, commanded by captain Carstairs, whom 
they beat off, wounding desperately one of his 
party. For this resistance t) authority, they 
were declared rebels. The next exploit in which 
Burly was engaged, was of a bloodier complexion 
and more dreadful celebrity. It is well known, 
that James Sharpe, archbishop of St. Andrews, 
was regarded by the rigid Presbyterians, not only 
as a renegade, who had turned back from the 
spiritual plough, but as the principal author of 
the rigours exercised against their sect. He em- 
ployed, as an agent of his oppression, one Carmi- 
chael, a decayed gentleman. The industry of 
this man, in procuring information, and in en- 
forcing the severe penalties against conventiclers, 
having excited the resentment of the Cameron- 
ians, nine of their number, of whom Burly and 
his brother-in-law, Hackston, were the leaders, 
assembled, with the purpose of way-laying and 
murdering Carmichael ; but, while they searched 
for him in vain, they received tidings that the 
archbishop himself was at hand. The party re- 
sorted to prayer ; after which, they agreed unani- 
mously, that the Lor.d had delivered the wicked 
Haman into their hand. In the execution of the 
supposed will of heaven, they agreed to put them- 
selves under the command of a leader; and they 
requested Hackston of Rathillet to accept the 
office, which he declined, alleging, that, should 
he comply with their request, the slaughter might 
be imputed to a private quarrel, which existed 
betwixt him and the archbishop. The command 
was then offered to Burly, who accepted it with- 
out scruple ; and they galloped off in pursuit of 
the archbishop's carriage, which contained him- 
self and his daughter. Being well mounted, they 
easily overtook and disarmed the prelate's attend- 
itfants. Burly, crying out ' Judas be taken I' rode 



m 









SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



536 

up to the carriage, wounded the postillion, and % 
ham-strung one of the horses. He then fired 
into the coach a piece, charged with several bul- 
lets, so near, that the archbishop's gown was set 
on fire. The rest, coming up, dismounted, and 
dragged him out of the carriage, when, fright- 
ened and wounded, he crawled towards Hacks- 
ton, who still remained on horseback, and begged 
for mercy. The stern enthusiast contented him- 
self with answering, that he would not himself 
lay a hand on him. Burly and his men again 
fired a volley upon the kneeling old man ; and 
were in the act of riding off, when one, who re- 
mai ned to girth his horse, unfortunately heard 
the daughter of their victim call to the servant 
for help, exclaiming, that his master was still 
alive. Burly then again dismounted, struck off 
the prelate's hat with his foot, and split his skull 
with his shable (broad sword,) although one of 
the party (probably Rathillet) exclai.ned, ' Spare 
these gray hairs !' * The rest pierced him with 
rep eated wounds. They plundered the carriage, 
and rode off, leaving, beside the mangled corpse, 
th e daughter, who was herself wounded, in her 
pious endeavour to interpose betwixt her father 
and his murderers. The murder is accurately 
represented, in bas relief, upon a beautiful monu- 

! ment, erected to the memory of archbishop 
Sharpe, in the metropolitan church of St. An- 
drews. This memorable example of fanatic re- 

( venge was acted upon Magus Muir, near St. 
Andrews, 3d May, 1679. f 






* " They believed Sharpe to be proof against shot; 
for one of the murderers told Wodrow, that, at the 
sight of cold iron, his courage fell. They no longer 
doubted this, when they found in his pocket a small 
clue of siik, rolled round a bit of parchment, marked 
with two lon< words, in Hebrew or Cualdaic charac- 
ters. Accordingly, it is stid averred, that the balls 
only left blue marks on the prelate's neck and breast, 
although the discharge was so near as to burn his 
clothes." — Scott. 

f "The question, whether the bishop of St. Andrews' 
death was murder, was a shibboleth, or expe.imeatuua 
crucis, frequently put to tbe apprehended couveuti- 
ciers. Isabel Alison, executed at Edinburgh, 26th 
January, 1681, was interrogated, before the privy 
couucil, if she conversed with David Hackston? 'I 
answered, I did converse with him, and I bless the 
Lord that ever I saw him; for I never saw ought in 
hira but a godly pious youth. They asked, if the kill- 
ing of the bishop of St Andrews was a pious act? I 
answered, I never heard him say he killed him; but, 
if God moved any, and put it upon theni to execute 
his righteous judgment upon him, I have nothing to 
say to that. They asked me, when saw ye John Bal- 
four (Burly,) that pious youth? I answered, I have 
him. They asked, wuen? I answered, these are 



" Burly was, of course, obliged to leave Fife ; 
and, upon the 25th of tbe same month, he arrived 
in Evandale, in Lanarkshire, along with Hacks- 
ton, and a fellow called Dingwall, or Daniel, 
one of the same bloody band. Here he joined his 
old friend Hamilton, already mentioned ; and, 
as they resolved to take up arms, they were soon 
at the head of such a body of the ' chased and 
tossed western men,' as they thought equal to 
keep the field. They resolved to commence their 
exploits upon the 29th of May, 1679, being the 
anniversary of the Restoration, appointed to be 
kept a3 a holiday, by act of parliament ; an insti- 
tution which they esteemed a presumptuous and 
unholy solemnity. Accordingly, at the head of 
eighty horse, tolerably appointed, Hamilton, 
Burly, and Hackston, entered the royal burgh of 
Rutherglen, extinguished the bonfires made in 
honour of the day, burned at the cress the acta 
of parliament in favour of prelacy, and for sup- 
pression of conventicles, as well as those acts of 
council, which regulated the indulgence granted 
to Presbyterians. Against all these acts they 
entered their solemn protest, or testimony, as 
they called it ; and, having affixed it to the cross, 
conc.uded with prayer and psalms. Being now 
joined by a large body of foot, so that their 
strength seems to have amounted to five or six 
hundred men, though very indifferently armed, 
they encamped upon Loudon-hill. Claverhouse, 
who was in garrison at Glasgow, instantly 
marched against the insurgents, at the head of 
his own troop of cavalry and others, amounting 
to about one hundred and fifty men. He arrived 
at Hamilton on the 1st of June, so unexpectedly, 
as to make prisoner John King, afamous preacher 
among the wanderers; and rapidly continued 
his march, carrying his captive along with him, 
till he came to the village of Drumclog, about a 
mile east of Loudon-hill, and twelve miles south- 
west of Hamilton. At some distance fti m this 
place, the insurgents were skilfully posted in a 
boggy strait, almost inaccessible to cavalry, hav 
ing a broad ditch in their front. Claverhouse's 
dragoons discharged their carabines, and made 
an attempt to charge ; but the nature of the 
ground threw them into total disorder. Burly, 
who commanded the handful of horse belonging 
to the whigs, instantly led them down on the 
disordered squadrons of Claverhouse, who wen, 
at the same time, vigorously assaulted by the foot, 



Irivclous questions; I am not bound t> answer them.' 
—Cloud of Witnesses, p. 85."— Scott. 












headed by the gallant Cleland, * and the enthusi- 
astic Hackston. Claverhouse himself was forced 
to fly, and was in the utmost danger of being 
taken 5 his horse's belly being cut open by the 
stroke of a scythe, so that the poor animal trailed 
his bowels for more than a mile. In his flight, 
he passed King, the minister, lately his prisoner, 
but now deserted by his guard, in the general 
confusion. The preacher hollowed to the flying 
commander, to ' halt, and take his prisoner with 
him ;' or, as others say, ' to stay, and take the 
afternoon's preaching.' Claverhouse, at length 
remounted, continued his retreat to Glasgow. 
He lost, in the skirmish, about twenty of his 
troopers, and his own cornet and kinsman, Ro- 
bert Graham, whose fate is alluded to in the bal- 
lad. Only four of the other side were killed, 
among whom was Dingwall, or Daniel, an asso- 
ciate of Burly in Sharpes murder. ' The rebels,' 
says Crichton, ' finding the cornet's body, and 
supposing it to be that of Clavers, because the 
name of Graham was wrought in the shirt-neck, 
treated it with the utmost inhumanity; cutting 
off the nose, picking out the eyes, and stabbing 
it through in a hundred places.' The same charge 
is brought by Guild, in his ( Bellum Bothuylli- 
anum.* 

" Although Burly was among the most active 
leaders in the action, he was not the commander- 
in-chief, as one would conceive from the ballad. 
That honour belonged to Robert Hamilton, 
brother to Sir William Hamilton of Preston, a 
gentleman, who, like most of those at Drumclog, 
had imbibed the very wildest principles of fanati- 




il William Cleland, a man of considerable genius, 
author of several poems, puM shed in 1697. His 
Hudibrastic verses are poor scurrilous trash, as the 
reader may judge from the description of the High- 
landers, already quoted. But, in a wild rhapsody, e 1- 
titled, • Hollo, my Fancy,' he displays some imagina- 
tion. His anti-monarchical princ.ples seem to break 
out in the following lines ; 

Fain would I know (if be?s:s ha e any reason) 
If falcons killing eagles do commit a treason? 
He was a strict non-conformist, and. after the Revolu- 
tion, became lieutenant-colonel of the earl of Angus's 
regiment, called the Cameroniau regiment. He was 
killed 21st August, 1689, in the churchyard of Dun- 
keld, which his corps manfully and successfully de- 
fended against a superior body of Highlanders. His 
sou was the author of the letter prefixed to the Dun- 
ciad, aud is said to have been the notorious Cleland, 
who, in circumstances of pecuniary embarrassment, 
prostituted his talents to the composition of indecent 
and infamous works ; but this seems inconsistent 
with dates, and the latter personage was probably the 
grandson of c .lonel Cleland." — Scoct. 



cism. The Cameronian account of the insurrec- 
tion states, that ' Mr. Hamilton discovered a 
great deal of bravery and valour, both in the 
conflict with, and pursuit of the enemy ; buc 
when he and some others were pursuing the 
enemy, others flew too greedily upon the spoil, 
small as it was, instead of pursuing the victory : 
and some, without Mr. Hamilton's knowledge, 
and against his strict command, gave five of these 
bloody enemies quarters, and then let them go : 
this greatly grieved Mr. Hamilton, when he saw 
some of Babel's brats spared, after the Lord had 
delivered them to their hands, that they might 
dash them against the stones.' — Psalm exxxvii. 9. 
In his own account of this, ' he reckons the spar- 
ing of these enemies, and letting them go, to be 
among their first stepping aside ; for which he 
feared that the Lord would not honour them to 
do much more for him ; and says, that he was 
neither for taking favours from, nor giving fa- 
vours to, the Lord's enemies.' Burly was not a 
likely man to fall into this sort of backsliding. 
He disarmed one of the duke of Hamilton's ser- 
vants, who had been in the action, and desired 
him to tell his master, he would keep, till meet- 
ing, the pistols he had taken from him. The 
man described Burly to the duke as a little stout 
man, squint-eyed, and of a most ferocious aspect ; 
from which it appears that Burly's figure corre- 
sponded to his manners, and perhaps gave rise to 
his nickname, Burly, signifying strong. He was 
with the insurgents till the battle of Bothwell 
Bridge, and afterwards fled to Holland. He 
joined the prince of Orange, but died at sea, 
during the expedition. The Camermians still 
believe he had obtained liberty from the prince to 
be avenged of those who had prosecuted the Lord s 
people; but, through his death, the laudable 
design of purging the land with their blood, is 
supposed to have fallen to the ground. — Life of 
Balfour of Kinloch. 

" The consequences of the battle of Loudon - 
hill will be detailed in the introduction to the 
next ballad."] 

Y"ou'i. marvel when I tell ye o' 
Our noble Burly, and his train ; 

When last he march'd up thro' the land, 
Wi' sax-and-twenty westland men. 

Than they I ne'er o' braver heard, 
For they had a' baith wit and skill j 

They proved right well, as I heard tell, 
As they cam' up o'er Loudun-hill. 



ygb 538 






Weel prosper a' the gospel lads, 
That are into the west countrie ; 
\^£-4 Ay wicked Claver'se to demean, 
"^> (S^ And ay an ill dead may he die ! 









: W5 



For he's drawn up i' battle rank, 
An' that baith soon an' hastilie ; 

But they wha live till simmer come, 
Some bludie days for this will see. 

But up spak' cruel Claver'se then, 
Wi' hastie wit, an' wicked skill ; 

" Gi'e fire on yon westlan' men ; 
I think it is my sov'reign's will." 

But up bespake his cornet, then, 
" It's be wi' nae consent o' me ! 

I ken I'll ne'er come back again, 
An' mony mae as weel as me. 

" There is not ane of a' yon men, 
But wha is worthy other three ; 

There is na ane amang them a', 
That in his cause will stap to die. 

" An' as for Burly, him I knaw ; 

He's a man of honour, birth, an' fame ; 
Gi'e him a sword into his hand, 

He'll fight thysel' an' other ten." 

But up spake wicked Claver'se then, 
T wat his heart it raise fu' hie 1 

And he has cry'd that a' might hear, 
" Man, ye ha'e sair deceived me. 

" I never ken'd the like afore, 

Na, never since I came frae hame, 

That you sae cowardly here suld prove, 
An' yet come of a noble Graeme." 

But up bespake his cornet, then, 

" Since that it is your honour's will, 

Mysel' shall be the foremost man, 
That shall gi'e fire on Loudon-hill. 

" At your command I'll lead them on, 

' But yet wi' nae consent o' me ; 
For weel I ken I'll ne'er return, 
And mony mae as weel as me." 

Then up he drew in battle rank ; 

I wat he had a bonnie train ! 
But the first time that bullets flew, 

Ay he lost twenty o* his men. 



Then back he came the way he gaed, 
I wat right soon and suddenly ! 

He gave command amang his men, 

And sent them back, and bade them flee. 

Then up came Burly, bauld an' stout, 
Wi's little train o' Westlan d men ; 

Wha mair than either aince or twice 
In Edinburgh confined had been. 

They ha'e been up to London sent, 
An' yet they're a* come safely down ; 

Sax troop o' horsemen they ha'e beat, 
And chased them into Glasgow town. 



^ 



*];■ 



[" It has been often remarked, that the Scot- 
tish, notwithstanding their national courage, 
were always unsuccessful when fighting for their 
religion. The cause lay, not in the principle, but 
in the mode of its application. A leader, like 
Mahomet, who is at the same time the prophet 
of his tribe, may avail himself of religious enthu- 
siasm, because it comes to the aid of discipline, 
and is a powerful means of attaining the despotic 
command essential to the success of a general. 
But, among the insurgents, in the reigns of the 
last Stuarts, were mingled preachers, who taught 
different shades of the Presbyterian doctrine; 
and, minute as these shades sometimes were, 
neither the several shepherds, nor their flocks, 
could cheerfully unite in a common cause. This 
will appear from the transactions leading to the 
battle of Bothwell-bridge. 

" We have seen, that the party which defeated 
Claverhouse at Loudon-hill, were Cameronians, 
whose principles consisted in disowning all tem- 
poral authority, which did not flow from and 
through the Solemn League and Covenant. This 
doctrine, which is still retained by a scattered 
remnant of the sect in Scotland, is in theory, and 
would be in practice, inconsistent with the safety 
of any well-regulated government, because the 
Covenanters deny to their governors that tolera- 
tion, which was iniquitously refused to them- 
selves. In many respects, therefore, we cannot 
be surprised at the anxiety and rigour with which 
the Cameronians were persecuted, although we 



may bi of opinion, that milder means would have 
induced a melioration of their principles. These 
men, as already noticed, excepted against such 
Presbyterians as were contented to exercise their 
worship under the indulgence granted by gov- 
ernment, or, in other words, who would have 
been satisfied with toleration for themselves, 
without insisting upon a revolution in the state, 
or even in the church government. 

" When, however, the success at Loudon Hill 
was spread abroad, a number of preachers, gen- 
tlemen, and common people, who had embraced 
the more moderate doctrine, joined the army of 
Hamilton, thinking that the difference in their 
opinions ought not to prevent their acting in the 
common cause. The insurgents were repulsed in 
an attack upon the town of Glasgow, which, how- 
ever, Claverhouse, shortly afterwards, thought 
it necessary to evacuate. They were now nearly 
in full possession of the west of Scotland, and 
pitched their camp at Hamilton, where, instead 
of modelling and disciplining their army, the 
Cameronians an.l Erastians (for so the violent 
insurgents chose to call the more moderate Pres- 
byterians) only debated, in council of war, the 
real cause of their being in arms. Hamilton, 
their general, was the leader of the first party ; 
Mr. John Walsh, a minister, headed the Eras- 
tians. The latter so far prevailed, as to get a 
declaration drawn up, in which they owned the 
king's government; but the publication of it 
gave rise to new quarrels. Each faction had its 
own set of leaders, all of whom aspired to be 
officers ; and there were actually two councils of 
war issuing contrary orders and declarations at 
the same time ; the one owning the king, and 
the other designing him a malignant, bloody, 
and pe jured tyrant. 

" Meanwhile, their numbers and zeal were 
magnified at Edinburgh, and great alarm ex- 
cited lest they should march eastward. Not only 
was the foot milria instantly called out, but pro- 
clamations were issued, directing all the heritors, 
in the eastern, southern, and northern shires, to 
repair to the king's host, with their best horses, 
arms, and retainers. In Fife, and other coun- 
ties, where the Presbyterian doctrines prevailed, 
many gentlemen disobeyed this order, and were 
afterwards severely fined. Most of them alleged, 
in excuse, the apprehension of disquiet from 
their wives. * A respectable force was soon as- 



• «« ' Balcanquhall of that ilk alledged, that hi- 
a horses were robbed, but shunned to take the declan 

"" J 



sembled; and James, duke of Buc^leuch am] 
Monmouth, was sent down, by Charles, to take 
the command, furnished with instructions, not 
unfavourable to Presbyterians. The royal army 
now moved slowly forwards towards Hamilton, 
and reached Bothwell-moor on the 22d of June, 
1679. The insurgents were encamped chiefly in 
the duke of Hamilton's park, along the Clyde, 
which separated the two armies. Bothwell- 
bridge, which is long and narrow, had then a 
portal in the middle, with gates, which the 
Covenanters shut, and barrieadoed with stones 
and logs of timber. This important post was 
defended by three hundred of their best men, 
under Hackston of Rathillet, and Hall of Haugh- 
head. Early in the morning, this party crossed 
the bridge, and skirmished with the royal van- 
guard, now advanced as far as the village of 
Both well. But Hackston speedily retired to his 
post, at the western end of Both well-bridge. 

" While the dispositions, made by the duke of 
Monmouth, announced his purpose of assailing 
the pass, the more moderate of the insurgents 
resolved to offer terms. Ferguson of Kaitloch, a 
gentleman of landed fortune, and David Hume, 
a clergyman, earned to the duke of Monmouth a 
supplication, demanding free exercise of their re- 
ligion, a free parliament, and a free general 
assembly of the church. The duke heard their 
demands with his natural mildness, and assured 
them, he would interpose with his majesty in 
their behalf, on condition of their immediately 
dispersing themselves, and yielding up their arms, 
Had the insurgents been all of the moderate 
opinion, this proposal would have been accepted, 
much bloodshed saved, and, perhaps, some per- 
manent advantage derived to their party ; or, 
had they been all Cameronians, their defence 
would have been fierce and desperate. But, 
while their motley and misassorted officers were 
debating upon the duke's proposal, his field -pieces 
were already planted on the eastern side of the 
river, to cover the attack of the foot guards, who 
were led on by lord Livingstone to force the 
bridge. Here Hackston maintained his post with 
zeal and courage ; nor was it until all his ammu- 
nition was expended, and every support denied 



A\^i'.s> 



tion, for fear of disquiet from his wife. Young of , 
Kirkton — his l&dyes dangerous sickness, aad bitter 
curses if he should leave her, and the appearance of 
abortion on his offering to go from her. And many - 
others pled, in general terms, that their wives opposed 
or contradicted their goina:. But the justiciary court 
found this defence totally irrelevant.'— FountaiuhalVs 
Decisions, vol. i. p. 88." — Scott, 



eg 



him by the general, that he reluctantly abandoned 
the important pass. * When his party were 
drawn back . the duke's army, slowly, and with 
their cannon in front, defiled along the bridge, 
and formed in line of battle, as they came over 
the river; the duke commanded the foot, and 
Ciaverhouse the cavalry. It would seem, that 
these movements could not have been performed 
without at least some loss, had the enemy been 
serious in opposing them. But the insurgents 
were otherwise employed. With the strangest 
delusion that ever fell upon devoted beings, they 
chose these precious moments to cashier their 
officers, and elect others in their room. In this 
important operation, they were at length dis- 
turbed by the duke's cannon, at the very first 
discharge of which, the horse of the Covenanters 
wheeled, and rode off, breaking and trampling 
down the ranks of their infantry in their flight. 
The Cameronian account blames Weir of Green- 
ridge, a commander of the horse, who is termed 
a sad Achan in the camp. The more moderate 
party lay the whole blame on Hamilton, whose 
conduct, they say, left the world to debate 
whether he was most traitor, cjward, or fool. 
The generous Monmouth was anxious to spare 
the blood of his infatuated countrymen, by which 
he incurred much blame among the high-flying 
royalists. Lucky it was for the insurgents that 
thu battle did not happen a day later, when old 
general Dalziel, who divided with Ciaverhouse 
the terror and hatred of the whigs, arrived in the 
eamp, with a commission to supersede Mon- 
mouth, as commander-in-chief. He is said to 
have upbraided the duke, publicly, with his lenity, 
and heartily to have wished his own commission 
had come a day sooner, when, as he expressed 
himself, ' These rogues should never more have 
troubled the king or country.' f But, notwith- 



* " There is an accurate representation of this part 
of the engagement in an old painting, of which there 
are two copies extant; one in the collection of his 
grace the duke of Hamilton, the other at Dalkeith 
house. The whole appearance of the. ground, even 
including a few old houses, is the same which the 
scene now presents : The removal of the porch, or 
gateway, upon the bridge, is the only perceptible dif- 
ference. The duke of Monmouth, on a white charger, 
directs the inarch of the party engaged in storming 
the bridge, while his artillery gall the motley ranks of 
the Covenanters."— Scott. 

t " Dalziel was a man of savage manners. A pri- 
soner having railed at him, while under examination 
before the privy council, calling him 'a Muscovia 
beast, who used to roast men, the general, in a pas- 
&iou, struck him, with the porael of his shabble, on the 



M. standing the merciful orders of the duke of Mon > . 
mouth, the cavalry made great slaughter among ( 
the fugitives, of whom fuur hundred were slain, g 
Guild thus expresses himself: — 



Non audita Ducis verurn mandata s 
Omnibus, iuseciuitur fugientes plurima turba, 
Perque agros, passim, trepida formidine captos | 
Obtruncat, ssevumque ad ; git per viscera fevrum. "j 
MS. Btllum Both'.ellianum. 

<l The same deplorable circumstances are more * 

elegantly bewailed in ' Clyde,' a poem, reprinted t 

' Scottish Descriptive Poems,' edited by the i 

late Dr. John Leyden, Edinburgh, 1803 :— / 

Where Bothwell's bridge connects the margin steep, * 

And Clyde, below, runs silent, strong, ana ueep, 

The hardy peasant, by oppression driveu 

To battle, deemed his cause the cause of heaven; 

Unskilled in arms, with useless courage stood, 

While gentle Monmouth grieved to shed his blood: ; 

But fierce Dundee, inflamed with deadly hate, 

In vengeanca for the great Montrose's fate, 

Let loose the sword, and to the hero's shade 

A barbarous hecatomb of victims paid. 

' ' The object of Claverhouse's revenge, assigned ! 
by Wilson, is grander, though more remote and 
less natural, than that in the ballad, which im- ■ 
putes the severity of the pursuit to his thirst to 
revenge the death of his cornet and kinsman, at 
Drumclog ; | and to the quarrel betwixt Claver- 



face, till the blood sprung.'— Fountainhall, vol. i. p. > 
159. He had sworn never to shave his beard after ttie j 
death of Charles the First. This venerable appendage j 
reached his girdle, and, as he wore always an <• u- \ 
fashioned burl* coat, his appearance in London never 
tailed to attract the notice of the children and of tin ■ ' 
mob. King Charles II. used to swear at him, for f 
bringing such a rabble of boys together, to be squeezed \ 
to death, while they gaped at his long beard and an- 
tique habit, and exhorted him to shave and dress like ' 
a Christian, to keep the poor ' bairns,' as Dalziei ex- { 
pressed it, out of danger. In compliance with this re- , 
quest, he once appeared at court fashionably dressed, | 
excepting the beard; but when the king bad laughed 
sufficiently at the metamorphosis, he resumed his old ; 
dress, to the great joy of the bo\ s, his us ... attendants. ; 
— Creichton's Memoirs, p. 102.' '— Scott. 

J " There is some reason to conjecture, that the re- 
venge of the Cameronians, if successful, would hava ; 
been little less sanguinary than that of the royalist 
Creichton mentions, that they had elected, in then \ 
camp, a high pair of gallows, and prepared a quantity : 
of halters, to hang such prisouers as might fall into 
their hands; and he admires the forbearance of the K 
king's soldiers, who, when they returned with their 
prisoners, brought them to the very spot where the \ 
gallows stood, and guarded them there, without offer- 
ing to hang a single individual. Guild, in the ' Bellum 
Bothuelltauum,' alludes to the same story, which la t 



BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WAB3. 



house and Monmouth, it ascribes, with great ?& scheme of invasion, which the unfortunate earl / :. 



naivete, the bloody fate of the latter. Local tra- 
£^ dition is always apt to trace foreign events to the 
Rv domestic causes, which are more immediately in 
"^v the narrator's view. There is said to be another 
j song upon this battle, once very popular, but I 
--rj have not been able to recover it. This copy is 
/ given from recitation. 

" There were two Gordons of Earlstoun, father 
: and son. They were descended of an ancient 
§^\ family in the west of Scotland, and their pro- 
) genitors were believed to have been favourers of 
^3 the reformed doctrine, and possessed of a trans- 
tV) iation of the Bible as early as the days of VYick- 
sg* liffe. William Gordon, the father, was, in 1G63, 
*i ] summoned before the privy council, for keeping 
T€j conventicles in his house and woods. By another 
P\ act ef council, he was banished out of Scotland, 
£j j "but the sentence was never put into execution. 
Ip. In 1667, Earlstouii was turned out of his house, 
E *vhich was converted into a garrison for the 
J 1 /ring's soldiers. He was not in the battle of 
^y Bothwell-bridge, but was met, hastening towards 
K3 it, by some English dragoons, engaged in the 



of Argyle was then meditating. He was appre- 
hended upon his return to Scotland, tried, con- 
victed of treason, and condemned to die ; but his 
fate was postponed by a letter from the king, 
appointing him to be reprieved for a month, that 
he might, in the interim, be tortured for the 
discovery of his accomplices. The council had 
the unusual spirit to remonstrate against this 
I illegal course of severity. On November 3, 1653, 
j he received a farther respite, in hopes he would 
I make some discovery. When brought to the tar, 
to be tortured (for the king had reiterated his 
commands), he, through fear, or distraction, 
roared like a bull, and laid so stoutly about him, 
that the hangman and his assistant could hardly 
master him. At last he fell into a swoon, and, 
on his recovery, charged general Balziel and 
Drummond (violent tories), together with the 
duke of Hamilton, with being the leaders of the 
fanatics. It was generally thought that he 
affected this extravagant behaviour to invalidate 
all that agony might extort from him concerning 
i his real accomplices. He was sent, first, to Edin- 



tory nf Bothwell Rising— Life of Gordon of Ear Is - 

/ ton, in Scottish Worthies — Wodrom's History, vol. 

pT <sy ii. The son, Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun, I 

O suppose to be -the hero of the ballad. He was 

y|>-/\ not a Cameronian, but of the more moderate 

ifSjJ class of Presbyterians, whose sole object was free- 

H|G dom of conscience, and relief from the oppressive j 

« v 1 laws against non-conformists. He joined the 

V^f 1 insurgents shortly after the skirmish at Loudon- 

/\3-"<A hill. He appears to have been active in forward - 

\ --- n ing the supplication sent to the duke of Mon- 

^J mouth. After the battle, he escaped discovery, 

%~/zsA by flying into a house at Hamilton, belonging to 

ffyoi one of his tenants, and disguising himself in 

//~5\ female attire. His person was proscribed, and 

U.j|jj? J his estate of Earlstoun was bestowed upon col- 
onel Theophilus Ogilthorpe, by the crown, first 

-A in security for £5000, and afterwards in perpetu- 

V^vJ ity. — Fountainhall, p. 390. The same author 

(-^§C!S mentions a person tried at the circuit court, July 

r£ I 10, 1683, solely for holding intercourse with 

'-^U Earlstoun, an inter-communed (proscribed) re 

VafgyO bel. As he had been in Holland after the battle 

r^O of Bothwell, he was probably accessory to the 






pursuit, already commenced. As he refused to ! j burgh castle, and, afterwards, to a prison upon 
surrender, he was instantly slain.— Wilson's His- | the Bass island ; although the privy council more 



than once deliberated upon appointing his im- 
mediate death. On 22d August, 16S4, Earlstoun 
was sent for from the Bass, and ordered for exe- 
cution, 4th November, 16-34. He endeavoured 
to prevent his doom by escape; but was dis- 
covered and taken, after he had gained the roof 
of the prison. The c ^uneil deliberated, whether, 
in consideration of this attempt, he was not 
liable to instant execution. Finally, however, 
they were satisfied to imprison him in Blackness 
castle, where he remained till after the Revolu- 
tion, when he was set at liberty, and his doom of 
forfeiture reversed by act of parliament. — See 
Fountainhall, vol. i. pp. 238, 210, 245, 250, 301, 
302."— Scott's Minstrelsy.] 

" O Billie, billie. bonnie billie, 

Will ye go to the wood wi' me? 
We'll ca' our horse hame raasterless, 

An' gar them trow slain men are we." 

" O no, O no !" says Eai*lstoun, 

" For that's the thing that mauna be ; 

For I am sworn to Bothwell Hill, 
Where I maun either gae or die." 







[W\ 



c& 












An' he has joined our Scottish lads, 
As they were marching out the way. 

" Now, fareweel father, and fareweel mother, 
An' fare ye weel my sisters three ; 

An' fare ye weel my Earlstoun, 
For thee again I'll never see !" 

So they're awa' to Both well Hill, 

An' waly they rode bonnilyl 
When the duke o' Monmouth saw them comin', 

He went to view their company. 

■" Ye're welcome, lads," then Monmouth said, 
" Ye're welcome, brave Scots lads, to me ; 

And sae are ye, brave Earlstoun, 
The foremost o' your company ! 

** But yield your weapons ane an' a' ; 

O yield your weapons, lads, to me ; 
For, gin ye'll yield your weapons up, 

Ye'se a' gae hame to your country." 

Out up then spak' a Lennox lad, 

And waly but he spak' bonnily < 
v< I winna yield my weapons up, 

To you nor nae man that I see." 

Then he set up the flag o' red, 

A* set about wi' bonnie blue ; * 
'* Since ye'll no cease, and be at peace, 

See that ye stand by ither true." 



* Blue was the favourite colour of the Cove- 
nanters ; hence the vulgar phx-ase of a true blue 
whig. Spalding informs us, that when the first 
army of Covenanters entered Aberdeen, few or 
none "wanted a blue ribband ; the lord Gordon, 
and some others of the marquis (of Huntly's) 
family had a ribband, when they were dwelling 
in the town, of a red fresh colour, which they 
wore in their hats, and called it the royal ribband, 
as a sign of their love and loyalty to the king. In 
despite and derision thereof, this blue ribband 
was worn, and called the Covenanter's ribband, 
by the haill s ddiers of the army, who would not 
hear of the royal ribband, such was their pride 
and malice." — Vol. i. p. 123. After the departure 
of this first army, the town was occupied by the 
barons of the royal party, till they were once 
more expelled by the Covenanters, who plundered 
the burgh and country adjacent ; " no fowl, 
cock, or hen, left unkilled, the hail house-dogs, 



£ They stell'df their cannons on the height, 

And showr'd their shot down in the how ; 
An' beat our Scots lads even down, 
Thick they lay slain on every know. 

As e'er you saw the rain down fa', 
Or yet the arrow frae the bow, — 

Sae our Scottish lads fell even down, 
An' they lay slain on every know. 

"0 hold your hand," then Monmouth cry'd, 
" G-i'e quarters to yon men for me !" 

But wicked Claver'se swore an oath, 
His cornet's death reveng'd sud be. 

" hold your hand," then Monmouth cry'd, 
" If ony thing you'll do for me ; 

Hold up your hand, you cursed Grseme, 
Else a rebel to our king ye'll be." % 



messens (i. e. lap-dogs), and whelps, within Aber- 
deen, killed upon the streets; so that neither 
h ;und, messen, nor other dog, was left alive that 
they could see : the reason was this,— when the 
first army came here, ilk captain and soldier had 
a blue ribband about his craig (i. e. neck;) in 
despite and derision whereof, when they removed 
from Aberdeen, some women of Aberdeen, as was 
alledged, knit blue ribbands about their messens' 
craigs, whereat their soldiers took off nee, and 
killed all their dogs for this very cause." — P. 160. 

I have seen one of the ancient banners of the 
Covenanters: it was divided into four copart- 
ments, inscribed with the words, Christ— Cove- 
nant — King — Kingdom. Similar standards are 
mentioned in Spalding's curious and minute nar- 
rative, vol. ii. pp. 182, 243.— Scott. 

f Stell'd— Planted. 

$ It is very extraordinary, that, in April, 16S5, 
Claverhouse was left out of the new commission 
of privy council, as being too favourable to the 
fanatics. The pretence was his having married 
into the Presbyterian family of lord Dundonald. 
An act of council was also past, regulating the 
payment of quarters, which is stated by Foun- 
tainhall to have been done in odium of Claver- 
house, and in order to excite complaints against 
him. This charge, so inconsistent with the na- 
ture and conduct of Claverhouse, seems to have 
been the fruit of a quarrel betwixt him and the 
lord high treasurer. — Founlainha.'/, vol. i. p. 360. 

That Claverhouse was most unworthily accused 
of mitigating the persecution of the Covenanters, 




Then wicked Claver'se turn'd about, 
1 wot an angry man was he ; 

And he has lifted up his hat, 

And cry'd, " God bless his majesty !' 






will appear from the following simple, but very 
affecting narrative, extracted from one of the 
little publications which appeared soon after the 
Revolution, while the facts were fresh in the 
memory of the sufferers. The imitation of the 
scriptural style produces, in some passages of 
these works, an effect not unlike what we feel in 
reading the beautiful book of Euth. It is taken 
from the life of Mr. Alexander Peden, * printed 
about 1720. 

" In the beginning of May, 1685, he came to 
the house of John Brown and Marion Weir, 
whom he married before he went to Ireland, 
where he stayed all night; and, in the morning, 
when he took farewell, he came out of the door, 
saying to himself, ' Poor woman, a fearful morn- 
ing,' twice over. ' A dark misty morning !' The 
next morning, between five and six hours, the 
said John Brown having performed the worship 



* " The enthusiasm of this personage, and of his 
followers, invested him, as has been already noticed, 
with prophetic powers ; but hardly any of the stories 
told of him exceeds that sort of gloomy conjecture of 
misfortune, which the precarious situation of his sect 
so greatly fostered. The following passage relates to 
the battle of Bothwell-bridge : ' That dismal day, 22d 
of June, 1679, at Bothwell-bridge, when the Lord's 
people fell and fled before the enemy, he was forty 
miles distant, near the border, and kept himself retired 
until the middle of the day, when some friends said to 
him, ' Sir, the people are waiting for sermon.' He 
answered, 'Let them go to their prayers; for me, I 
neither can nor will preach any this day, for our friends 
are fallen and fled befoie the enemy, at Hamilton, and 
they are hacking and hewing them down, and their 
blood is running like water.' The feats of Peden are 
thus commemorated by Fountainhall, 27th of March, 
1680 : — ' News came to the privy council, that about 
one hundred men well armed and appointed, had left 
Ireland, because of a search there for such malcon- 
tents, and landed in the west of Scotland, and joined 
with the wild fanatics. The council, finding that they 
disappointed the forces, by skulking from hole to hole, 
were of opinion, it were better to let them gather into 
a body, and draw to a head, and so they would get 
them altogether in a snare. They had one Mr. Peden, 
a minister, with them, and one Isaac, who commanded 
them. They had frighted most part of all the country 
ministers, so that they durst not stay at their churches, 
but retired to Edinburgh, or to garrison towns ; and 
it was sad to see whole shires destitute of preaching, 
except in burghs. Wherever they came they plun- 
dered arms, and particularly at my lord Dumfries's 
house.'— Fountainhall, vol. i. p. 359." — Scott. 



Then he's awa' to London town, 

Ay e'en as fast as he can dree ; 
Fause witnesses he has wi' him ta'en, 

An' ta'en Monmouth's head frae his body. 



of God in his family, was going, with a spade in 
his hand, to make ready some peat ground : the 
mist being very dark, he knew not until cruel 
and bloody Claverhouse compassed him with 
three troops of horse, brought him to his house, 
and there examined hhn ; who, though he was 
a man of a stammering speech, yet answered him 
distinctly and solidly ; which made Claverhouse 
to examine those whom he had taken to be his 
guides through the muirs, if ever they heard him 
preach ? They answered, 'No, no, he was never 
a preacher.' He said, ' If he has never preached, 
meikle he has prayed in his time;' he said to 
John, ' Go to your prayers, for you shall imme- 
diately die !' When he was praying, Claverhouse 
interrupted him three times ; one time, that he 
stopt him, he was pleading that the Lord would 
spare a remnant, and not make a full end in the 
day of his anger. Claverhouse said, ' I gave you 
time to pray, and ye are begun to preach;' he 
turned about upon his knees, and said, ' Sir, you 
know neither the nature of preaching or praying, 
that calls this preaching.' Then continued with- 
out confusion. "When ended, Claverhouse said, 
' Take goodnight of your wife and children.' 
His wife, standing by with her child in her arms 
that she had brought forth to him, and another 
child of his first wife's, he came to her, and said, 
' Now, Marion, the day is come, that I told you 
would come, when I spake first to you of mar- 
rying me.' She said, ' Indeed, John, I can wil- 
lingly part with you.' — ' Then,' he said, ' this is all 
I desire, 1 have no more to do but die.' He kissed 
his wife and bairns, and wished purchased and 
promised blessings to be multiplied upon them, 
and his blessing. Claverhouse ordered six sol- 
diers to shoot him ; the most part of the bullets 
came upon his head, which scattered his brains 
upon the ground. Claverhouse said to his wife, 
' What thinkest thou of thy husband now, 
woman r" She said, 'I thought ever much or 
him, and now as much as ever.' He said, 'It 
were justice to lay thee beside him.' She said, 
' If ye were permitted, I doubt not but your cru- 
eltie would go that length ; but how will ye make 
answer for this morning's work ?' He said, ' To 
man I can be answerable ; and for God, I will 
take him in my own hand.' Claverhouse mounted 



S§fc 






r^ 



Alang the brae, beyond the brig, 

Mony brave rran lies cauld and still ; 

Eut lang we'll mind, and sair we'll rue, 
The bloody battle of Bothwell Hill. 



m 



his horse, and marched, and left her with the 
corpse of her dead husband lying there ; she set 
the bairn on the ground, and gathered his brains, 
and tied up his head, and straighted his body, 
and covered him in her plaid, aud sat down, and 
wept over him. It being a very desert place, 
where never victual grew, and far from neigh- 
bours, it was some time before any friends came 
to her ; the first that came was a very fit hand, 
that old singular Christian woman, in the Cum- 
merhead, named Elizabeth Menzies, three miles 
distant, who had been tried with the violent 
death of her husband at Pentland, afterwards of 
two worthy sons, Thomas Weir, who was killed 
at Drumclog, and David Steel, who was suddenly 
shot afterwards when taken. The said Marion 
Weir, sitting upon her husband's grave, told me, 
that before that, she could see no blood but she 
was in danger to faint ; and yet she was helped 
to be a witness to all this, without either fainting 
or confusion, except when the shots were let off 
her eyes dazzled. His corpse was buried at the 
end of his house, where he was slain, with this 
inscription on his grave-stone :r-r 

In earth's cold bed, the dusty part here lie3, 
Of one who did ttie earth as dust despise ! 
Here, in this p'ace, from earth he took departure ; 
Now, he has got the garland of the martyrs. 

" This murder was committed betwixt six and 

seven in the morning: Mr. Peden was about ten 

or eleven miles distant, having been in the fields 

U all night : he came to the house betwixt seven 

and eight, and desired to call in the family, that 

he might pray amongst them ; when praying, he 

said, ' Lord, when wilt thou avenge Brown's 

blood ? Oh, let Brown's blood be precious in 

jar thy sight ! and hasten the day when thou wilt 

avenge it, with Cameron's, CarguTs, and many 

,. .>\; others of our martyrs' names; and oh ! for that 

- L ^ day, when the Lord would avenge all their 

1=-j j bloods !' When ended, John Muirhead enquired 

% ^W what he meant by Brown's blood ? He said twice 

„ r^f\ over, ' What do I mean ? Claverhouse has been 

\/*~^ix at the Preshil this morning, and has cruelly 

fy- V murdered John Brown; his corpse is lying at 

Mr ) the end of his house, and his poor wife sitting 

weeping by his corpse, and not a soul to speak a 

word comfortably to her.' " 






9 
© 



m 

1 



BOTHWELL BRIGG. 

[Modern Ballad.— James Hogg.] 

" Oh what is become o' your leal goodman, 
That now you are a' your lane ? 

If he has join'd wi' the rebel gang 
You will never see him again." 

" O say nae ' the rebel gang,' Ladye ; 

It's a term nae heart can thole, 
For them wha rebel against their God, 

It is justice to control. 

" When rank oppression rends the heart, 

And rules wi' stroke o' death, 
Wha wadna spend their dear heart's blood 

Eor the tenets of their faith ? 



While we read this dismal story, we must re- 
member Brown's situation was that of an avowed 
and determined rebel, (?) liable as such to mili- 
tary execution ; so that the atrocity was more 
that of the times than of Claverhouse. That 
general's gallant adherence to his master, the 
misguided James VII., and his glorious death on 
the field of victory, at Killicrankie, have tended 
to preserve and gild his memory. He is still re- 
membered in the Highlands as the most success- 
ful leader of their clans. An ancient gentleman, 
who had borne arms for the cause of Stuart, in 
1715, told the editor, that, when the armies met 
on the field of battle, at SherifT-muir, a veteran 
chief (I think he named Gordon of Glenbucket,) 
covered with scars, came up to the earl of Mar, 
and earnestly pressed him to order the High- 
landers to charge, before the regular army o* 
Argyle had completely formed their line, and at 
a moment when the rapid and furious onset of 
the clans might have thrown them into total 
disorder. Mar repeatedly answered, it was not 
yet time ; till the chieftain turned from him in 
disdain and despair, and, stamping with rage, 
exclaimed aloud, " O for one hour of Dundee !" 

Claverhouse's sword (a strait cut-and-thrust 
blade) is in the possession of lord Woodhouselee. 
In Pennycuik-house is preserved the buff-coat 
which he wore at the battle of Killiecrankie. 
The fatal shot-hole is under the arm-pit, so that 
the ball must have been received while his arm 
f was raised to direct the pursuit.— Scott. 






BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WARS. 



545 



"Then say na ' the rebel gang,' Ladye, 

For it gi'es me muckle pain ; 
My John went away with Earlston, 

And I'll never see either again." 

" wae is my heart for thee, Janet, 

sair is my heart for thee ! 
These Covenant men were ill advised ; 

They are fools, you may credit me. 

" Where 's a' their boastfiT preaching now, 

Against their king and law, 
When mony a head in death lies low, 

And mony mae maun fa' ?" 

<( Ay, but death lasts no for aye, Ladye, 
For the grave maun yield its prey ; 

And when we meet on the verge of heaven, 
We'll see wha are fools that day : 

" We'll see wha looks in their Saviour's face, 

With holiest joy and pride, 
Whether they who shed his servants' blood, 

Or those that for him died. 

" I wadna be the highest dame 

That ever this country knew, 
And take my chance to share the doom 

Of that persecuting erew. 

c ' Then ca' us na ' rebel gang,' Ladye, 

Xor take us fools to be, 
For there isna ane of a' that gang, 

Wad change his state wi' thee." 

" Oh weel may you be, my poor Janet, 
May blessings on you combine ! 

The better you are in either state, 
The less shall I repine ; 

* But wi' your fightings and your faith, 

Your ravings and your rage, 
There you have lost a leal helpmate, 

In the blossom of his age. 

** And what's to come o' ye, my poor Janet, 

Wi' these twa babies sweet ? 
Ye ha'e naebody now to work for them, 

Or bring you a meal o' meat ; 

" It is that which makes my heart sae wae, 
And gars me, while scarce aware, 

Whiles say the things I wadna say, 
Of them that can err nae mair." 



Poor Janet kiss'd her youngest babe, 
And the tears fell on his cheek, 

And they fell upon his swaddling bands, 
For her heart was like to break. 

c< Oh little do I ken, my dear, dear babes, 

What misery's to be mine ! 
But for the cause we ha'e espoused, 

I will yield my life and thine. 

ei Oh had I a friend, as I ha'e nane, — 
For nane dare own me now, — 

That I might send to Bothwell Brigg, 
If the killers wad but allow, 

** To lift the corpse of my brave John : 
I ken where they will him find, — 

He wad meet his G-od's foes face to face, 
And he'll ha'e nae wound behind." 

'* But I went to Bothwell Brigg, Janet, — 
There was nane durst hinder me, — 

For I wantit to hear a' I could hear, 
And to see what I could see ; 

" And there I found your brave husband, 

As viewing the dead my lane ; 
He was lying in the very foremost rank, 

In the midst of a heap o' slain." 

Then Janet held up her hands to heaven, 
And she grat, and she tore her hair, 

" sweet Ladye, dear Ladye, 
Dinna tell me ony mair ! 

" There is a hope will linger within, 

When earthly hope is vain, 
But, when ane kens the very worst, 

It turns the heart to stane !" 

" ' Oh wae is my heart, John Carr,' said I, 

* That I this sight should see !' 
But when I said these waefu' words, 

He lifted his eyne to me. 

" * art thou there my kind Ladye, 

The best o' this warld's breed, 
And are you ganging your leifou lane, 

Amang the hapless dead ? ' 

" ' I ha'e servants within my ca', John Carr, 

And a chariot in the dell, 
And if there is ony hope o' life, 

I will carry you hatne mysehV 
2* 






5i6 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



" ' O Lady, there is nae hope o' life ; 

And what were life to me ? 
Wad ye save me frae the death of a man, 

To hang on a gallows tree ? 

" ' I ha'e nae hame to fly to now, 

Nae country, and nae kin ; 
There is not a door in Fair Scotland 

Durst open to let me in. 

" ' But I ha'e a loving wife at hame, 

And twa babies, dear to me ; 
They ha'e naebody now that dares favour them, 

And of hunger they a' maun dee. 

" ' Oh for the sake of thy Saviour dear, 
Whose mercy thou hopest to share, 

Dear Lady, take the sackless things 
A wee beneath thy care ! 

" ' A lang farewell, my kind Ladye ! 

O'er weel I ken thy worth. 
Gae send me a drink o' the water o' Clyde, 

For my last drink on earth.' 

" dinna tell ony mair, Ladye, 

For my heart is cauld as clay ; 
There is a spear that pierces here, 

Frae every word ye say." 

" He wasna fear'd to dee, Janet, — 

For he gloried in his death, 
And wish'd to be laid with those who had bled 

For the same endearing faith. 

" There were three wounds in his boardly breast, 
And his limb was broke in twain, 

And the sweat ran down wi' his red heart's 
Wrung out by the deadly pain. [blood, 

" 1 row'd my apron round his head. 

For fear my men should tell, 
And 1 hid him in my Lord's castle, 

And I nursed him there mysell. 

" And the best leeches in a' the land 

Have tended him as he lay, 
And he never has lack'd my helping hand, 

By night nor yet by day. 

** I durstna tell you before, Janet, 

For I fear'd his life was gane, 
But now he's sae weel, ye may visit him, 

And ye'sj meet by yoursells alane." 



4^ Then Janet she fell at her Lady's feet, 
And she claspit them ferventlye, 
And she steepit them a' wi' the tears o' joy, 
Till the good Lady wept to see. 

" Oh ye are an angel sent frae heaven, 

To lighten calamity e ! 
For, in distress, a friend or foe 

Is a' the some to thee. 

" If good deeds count in heaven, Ladye, 

Eternal bliss to share, 
Ye ha'e done a deed will save your soul, 

Though ye should never do mair." 

" Get up, get up, my kind Janet, 
But never trow tongue or pen, 

That a' the warld are lost to good, 
Except the Covenant men." 

Wha wadna ha'e shared that Lady's joy 
When Avatching the wounded hind, 

Bather than those of the feast and the danoe, 
Which her kind heart resign'd ? 

Wha wadna rather share that Lady's fate, 
When the stars shall melt away, 

Than that of the sternest anchorite, 

That can naething but graen and pray ? 







[" This is the worst specimen of the truth of 
Scottish song that is to be met with ; two events 
being jumbled together in it, that happened at 
the distance of many years from each other. 
These seem to be, the battle of Auldearn, won 
by Montrose and the clans; and that on the 
plains of Cromdale, in Strathspey, where the two 
colonels, Buchan and Cannon, suffered them- 
selves to be surprised in their beds by Sir Thomas 
Livingston, and, though at the head of 1500 
brave Highlanders, utterly defeated and scatter- 
ed. This latter is the only battle on record that 
ever was really fought at Cromdale. It appears, 
therefore, more than probable, that on that 
action the original song has been founded; for 
the first twenty lines contain an exact and true 
description of that shameful defeat, and these 
twenty lines may be considered as either the 






BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WARS. 



54: 



■whole or part of the original song ; and as they ^ 
are middling good, and the air most beautiful, j 
they had, of course, become popular. Some | 
bard who had been partial to the clans, fired I ! 
with indignation at hearing the disgrace of his 1 1 
countrymen sung all over the land, had added ' 
to the original verses an overcharged account of . I 
the battle of Auldearn, won by Montrose, their 
favourite leader, against the Whigs : but, by a 
vile anachronism, he has made it to happen on 
the day following the action at Cromdale, 
whereas it happened just forty-five years before 
it. Although, therefore, I have placed the 
ballad among the songs of this early period, I am 
persuaded it had its origin at a much later date ; 
but it would have been ridiculous to have placed 
a song that treated wholly of Montrose, subse- 
quent to events that happened long after his 
death. Yet the part of the ballad that describes 
the victory won by that hero cannot be the 
original part of it, else the writer would never 
have placed the action at Cromdale, which is 
almost a day's journey distant from Auldearn, 
and no way connected with the scene of that 
engagement. It would never do now to sepa- 
rate this old and popular song into two parts ; 
but nothing can be more evident, than that one 
part of the song describes the battle won by 
Montrose and the clans, on the 4th of May 1645 ; 
and the other part, that won by Livingston 
over the clans, on the 1st of May 1G90. The 
names of the clans mentioned in the song 
are those that were present with Montrose at 
Auldearn ; the rout that the defeated army 
took, together with the number of them that 
reached Aberdeen, all accord with the truth of 
history : so that at whatever period the song was 
made, it evidently alludes to that action." 

Hogg's Jacobite Relics.] 

As I came in by Achindoun, 
A little wee bit frae the town, 
When to the Highlands I was bound, 
To view the haughs of Cromdale, 

I met a man in tartan trews, 

I speer'd at him what was the news; 

Quo' he, " The Highland army rues, 

That e'er we came to Cromdale. 

" We were in bed, Sir, every man, 
When the English host upon us came ; 
A bloody battle then began, 

Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 




" The English horse they were so rude, 
They bath'd their hoofs in Highland blood, 
But our brave clans, they boldly stood 
Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

" But, alas ! we could no longer stay, 
For o'er the hills we came away, 
And sore we do lament the day 

That e'er we came to Cromdale." 

Thus the great Montrose did say, 
" Can you direct the nearest way, 
For I will o'er the hills this day, 

And view the haughs of Cromdale." 

" Alas, my lord, you're not so strong, 
You scarcely have two thousand men, 
And there's twenty thousand on the plain, 
Stand rank and file on Cromdale." 

Thus the great Montrose did say, 
' ' I say, direct the nearest way, 
For I will o'er the hills this day, 

And see the haughs of Cromdale. " 

They were at dinner, every man, 
When great Montrose upon them came ; 
A second battle then began, 

Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

The Grant, Mackenzie, and M'Ky, 
Soon as Montrose they did espy, 
O then, they fought most valiantly ! 
Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

The M'Donalds they return'd again, 
The Camerons did their standard join, 
M'lntosh play'd a bloody game 

Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

The M'Gregors fought like lions bold, 
M'Phersons, none could them controul, 
M'Lauchlins fought, like loyal souls, 
Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

M f Leans, M'Dougals, and M'Xeils, 
So boldly as they took the field, 
And made their enemies to yield, 

Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

The Gordons boldly did advance, 
The Frasers fought with sword and lance. 
The Grahams they made the heads to dance, 
Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 



/-- 






% 



&J 



The loyal Stewarts, with Montrose, 
So boldly set upon their foes, 
And brought them down with Highland 
blows, 

Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 

Of twenty thousand, Cromwell's men, 
Five hundred fled to Aberdeen, 
The rest of them lie on the plain, 

Upon the haughs of Cromdale. 



[This is sung to the well-known tune of 
Ci Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." It appears to 
allude to a festival held at Auchindown on the 

Chevalier de St. George's birth-day.] 

At Auchindown, the tenth of June, 
Sae merry, blythe, and gay, Sir, 

Each lad and lass did fill a glass, 
And drink a health that day, Sir. 



We drank a health, and nae by stealth, 
'Mang kimmers bright and lordly : 

" King James the Eighth ! for him we'll 
fight, 
And down wi' cuekold Geordie !" 

We took a spring, and danc'd a fling, 

And wow but we were vogie ! 
We didna fear, though we lay near 

The Campbells, in Stra'bogie ; 

Nor yet the loons, the black dragoons, 

At Foehabers a-raising : 
If they durst come, we'd pack them home, 

And send them to their grazing. 

We fear'd no harm, and no alarm, 
No word was spoke of dangers ; 

We join'd the dance, and kiss'd the lance, 
And swore us foes to strangers, 

To ilka name that dar'd disclaim 

Our Jamie and his Charlie. 
" King James the Eighth ! for him we'H 
fight, 

And down the cuckold carlie!" 






m 



& 






APPENDIX. 



W02: 



©C €&Iei Jpnate. 



3§i 



[Modern Ballad. — Peter M'Arthtjr. — For 
an account of the battle of Glen Fruin, fought, 
in the reign of James VI., between the McGre- 
gors and Colquhouns, aided by the men of Len- 
nox and Lomond, see Browne's History of the 
Highland Clans, or Sir Walter Scott's introduc- 
tion to the annotated edition of his celebrated 
novel of Eob Roy.] 

The last lone echo dies away, 

Among yon mountains faint and far, 

And the dim shades of sinking day 
Light up the silent evening star. 

No beacon light streams down the pass, 
We hear no answering pibroch ring, 

In silence o'er the mountain mass, 
See the pale moon in beauty hung, 

Reflecting in the lake beneath 

Her trembling rays of silvery sheen ; 

And the night wind with balmy breath 
Scarce stirs the brackens bending green. 

Ah ! who could think that scenes so fair 
E'er trembled to the warrior's tread, 

Or that red heather blooming there 
Waves o'er the warrior's narrow bed. 

Here Alpine's bands from wild glens stray, 
Triumphant wav'd their banner'd pine, 

As on they swept on forray fray, 
Adown Glen Fruin 's deep ravine ' 



The haughty chieftain of Rossdhu 
Arous'd his clansmen near and far, 

With Lennox men, and Lomonds too, 
To turn aside clan Alpine's war. 

They meet ! and hark, the slogan cry ! 

Ah, who that onset could withstand ? 
The Lennox men disordered fly, 

And Lomonds too, a bleeding band. 

The stainless banner of Rosshdu 

Still floated o'er brave warrior men, 

And still with dauntless hearts, and true, 
They barr'd the pass by Fruin's Glen. 

The claymore gleamed with reddening Sash, 

The battle-axes rose and fell, 
Full on each foe with deadly crash, 

And hark ! the pibroch's mingling yell i 

But now the sweeping wild array 
Of Alpine's bold unbroken band, 

Scattered their foes, as ocean's spray 
Is broken on the rocky strand. 

And upward from the darksome glen, 
M'Gregors' shouts of triumph rose, 

And the wild shrieks of dying men 

Beneath the brands of conquering foes. 

Now, where the Fruin glides away 
Around yon rocks and withered fern, 

Rossdhu again, in bold array, 

Is mustering all his clansmen stern. 

And well they fought, as men should fight, 
Who strike for home and all that 's dear : 

But who could e'er withstand the might 
Of Alpine in his wild career ? 




550 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Like torrent swollen by wlntery rain, 
When tangled boughs impede its course, 

Bursting its barrier bold in twain, 
It sweeps the vale with treble force j 

So burst clan Alpine's bands away ; 

But far more dire than wintery flood, 
They left the wailings of dismay, 

And smouldering hamlets streak'd with 
blood. 

Even they with wondering look who staid* 
Apart, to view the deadly strife, 

Beneath brown Dousrald's ruthless blade 
They cried, but cried in vain for life ! 

Where Fruin murmurs to the dell, 

Clear winding from yon mountains lone, 

The traveller reads their mournful tale, 
But time hath scathed the lettered stone. 

Even yet, tradition tells the tale, 

And points the place near yonder height, 

Where mournful sounds and shadows pale 
Glide through the solemn gloom of night. 

That morn the sun rose redly rolled 
In crimson clouds foreboding woe, 

That morn Inch Murrin's seer foretold 
His kinsman dear of coming woe ; 

And when the sun looked o'er Glengyle, 
On Lomond's hills in evening 'rayed, 

Clan Alpine bore Glen Luss's spoil, 
O'er the deep lake by Inversnaid. 

And many a banner by his blaze 
Was mirror 'd in the lake below ; 

And hark ! the shouts of joy they raise 
O'er the rich spoil and conquer'd foe. 



* Near the scene of the contest, a large stone 
is shown, which receives the appellation of the 
Minister's Stone. It is said to have derived this 
name from the murder of a party of students at 
the spot by one of the M'Gregors, a man of great 
size and strength, named Dugald Ciar-Mhor, or 
the Mouse-Coloured. It is but right to say, that 
another account of the matter frees Dugald 
from the imputation of this crime. He was the 
immediate and indubitable ancestor of Rob 
Roy. 



The mist wreathes vail'd Ben Lomond'8 
brow, 

The sun withdrew his lurid light, 
The lake's brood waves with sullen flow 

Heaved to the moaning winds of night ; 

And many a coronach arose, 

And many a shriek of wild despair 

Awoke the weary night's repose, 
Re-echoing through the starless air. 

But when the dawn from sable nignt 
Came heralding the chief of day, 

They said it was a mournful sight- 
Glen Luss in smouldering ruins lay. 

The pines were skaith'd by Bannochraie, 
its vaulted halls and alder bowers, 

You'd thought that time and stern dec.iy 
Had pass'd for ages o'er its towers. 

The eagle sailed the air on high, 
To stoop upon the warrior slain, 

Till startled by the widow's cry, 
He sought his eyried home again. 

For still the widow's cry arose, 

And the lone orphan's piteous wail, 

As from the dead in dull repose 
The night withdrew her sable vail. 

Each matron true unbound the plaid, f 
That wrapt her silent warrior's breast, 

A bloody token — " Thus," they said, 

" Shall speak the woes of the oppress'd. 



t Eleven score women, widows of those slain in 
the engagement on the side of the Colquhouns, 
attired themselves in deep mourning, and ap- 
peared before the king, James VI., at Stirling, 
and demanded vengeance on the heads of the 
M'Gregors. To make the deeper impression on 
those to whom this supplication was made, each 
of the petitioners bore on a spear her husband's 
bloody shirt. The king was much affected. 
Measures of extreme severity were resorted to ; 
the execution of these measures was assigned to 
the earls of Argyle and Athol ; the very name 
of M'Gregor was abolished by an act of the 
Privy Council, Act 1603, and the chief of the 
«^clan was executed at Edinburgh. 



x£3M 



APPENDIX. 



551 



c< Ere night in Stirling's royal towers, 
King James shall hear the widow's tale, 

Kre morn, in fair Loch Katrine's bowers, 
Red Alpine's chief shall tremble pale." 

They said it was an earie sight, 

Like dusky shadows soil'd with gore ! 

They glided in the dawning light, 
Adown the glen to Lomond's shore. 

Away, away, o'er waves and spray, 

They sail'd by green Inch Murrans isle, 

Ere yet the sun with reddening ray 
Had shone upon its ruin'd pile. 

Away, away, o'er waves and spray, 
They lighted on the Endrick strand, 

By ancient cairn, and mountain grey, 
They crossed the dreary bleak moorland, 

To where yon castle braves the north, 
With clouded brows and warlike frown, 

Encircled by the winding Forth, 
In Stirling's old romantic town. 

They sought king James ; he heard then- 
cause, 

And when he heard their tale of grief, 
" Avenge," s?id he, " our broken laws, 

And give the widow's woes relief." 

With reddening brow and flashing eye, 
He grasped the hilt of his good blade, 

Yet with demeanour calm and high, 
Thus to his western chiefs he said, 

" Athol, Argyle, I hold you bound, 

A price is on M'Gregor's head ; 
With unsheathed sword and bloody hound, 

Avenge the widow and the dead!" 

And dearly has M'Gregor paid, 

By name proscribed and haunted band, 

For dark Glen Fruin's lawless raid, — 

No more he rules Loch Katrine's strand. 



EaBig Sfsai* 






[Modern Ballad by James Lemon, author of 
a volume of Poems and Songs, published at Glas- 
gow, in 1840.] 

There sits a lady in yon ha', 
And the tear drap dims her e'e, 

She has gowd an' sil'er at her ca', 
But nae joy or peace has she. 

The rose shone red upon her cheek, 
An' the sun frae her e'e broo, 

But the rose has left the lily meek, 
An' it is witherin' too. 

Then up and spoke her sister May, 

" ! mother, mother dear, 
To-morrow is Jean's bridal day, 

An' I dream'd 1 saw her bier." 

" O ! haud your tongue, ye croakin' thing, 

My malison on thee ! 
To-morrow eve, the bells shall ring, 

For the bride o' Louden lea." 

" ! mother dear, I slept again, 

I'm wae to tell it thee, 
I saw Sir Randal, who was slain, 

By Louden's treachery. 

" An' Louden gave our lady Jean 

Unto his rival there, 
Who stood beside his new grave green, 

Wi* his List look o' despair. 

" An' then I heard Death, mother dear, 
Pronounce the marriage creed, 

His altar was Sir Randal's bier, 
Where Jean and he were wed." 

Then up an' spoke her father fierce, 

An' angry man was he, 
" O ! out upon thee, fause, fause one, 

Ye lee, it canna be ! 

" Thy soul it is the grave o' truth, 
Thy heart its dull tomb stane, 

Thy mouth the oracle o' death. 
Thy seP its very fane ! 



552 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 









" Gae dress, gae dress thy sister Jean 
In the sma' white satin fine ; 

An' doff that star, thou fause, fause one, 
Tor it may ne'er be thine. 

" Gae doff, gae doff, that coronet, 

An' crown thy sister Jean ; 
For weel I read what thou'd be at 

Wi' thy invented dream. 

*' But I ha'e sworn the maiden's snood 

Thy coronet shall be ; 
For as I live, an' by the rood, 

A maiden thou shalt dee." 

Ye've seen the sun in early spring 

Smile o'er the flowery lea, 
But ere auld time could lift his wing, 

The tear stood in its e'e. 

An' ! 'twas sae wi' lady May, 
She blush'd and wept again ; 

" It's no for my ain doom I'm wae, 
But J my sister Jean." 

" Away, away, thou evil ane, 

To-morrow at the fane, 
The linkin' o' their hands in ane 

Shall widen my domain." 

To-morrow came, in sad sad wae, 

May stole to lady Jean ; 
They daurna speak, but fareweel aye 

Seems weilin' frae their e'en. 

To-morrow came, wi' claspin's fine 
They deck'd young lady Jean ; 

Like an angel newly left its shrine, 
She strangely gazed on men. 

! secret love, what canst thou be, 
Thou'rt not a thing o' earth, 

Thou'rt pure as the light o' heaven hie, 
Whose rays have gi'en thee birth. 

Syne frae the castle barricade, 

Young May in tears alane, 
Look'd on the wedding cavalcade, 

As on some funeral train. 

The father and the mother there, 

In silk geir flaunted gay, 
"Wi' mony an idle laugh and jeer 

They join'd in the deray. 



While mid the glare o' trappin's rare, 
The once blythe sprightly Jean, 

Wi' listless air, and vacant stare, 
Ke'er wist what they could mean. 

Until they pass'd the lanely grove, 
Where young Lord Eandal fell, 

Her e'e met Louden's — not in love- 
But who that look may tell ? 

Until they came to the kirk-yard, 

An' at Sir Eandal's grave, 
Her steed stood still, nor whip nor word 

Could mak' him onward move. 

Ye've seen the red o' the pure rose leaf 

Lost in its purer white, 
So her fair cheek a moment brief 

Blush'd like the morning light. 

An' doon she drapp'd frae her saddle bow, 

And knelt by Randal's tomb, 
Saying, "Noo, my- love, I've kept my vow, 

! tak' me to thy home." 

" Away," cried Louden lea, " Away 

An' bring the priest I crave ; 
What better altar could we ha'e 

Than a vile rival's grave ?" 

The priest, he came — the ritual flame, 

Alas! was her death-light; 
The priest he came — her eye's last gleara 

Had set in death's dark night. 

Noo, Louden lea, the cup o' wae 

Ye measured out in scorn, 
To thee is meted — frae this day 

Heart-stricken ye shall mourn. 

An' aye I hear a loun voice say, 

" An* ye her parents too, 
Shall sadly rue this waefu' day, 

The dregs shall fa' to you." 

An' lady May, in weeds o' wae, 

Mourns aften by their grave, 
That her proud parents scorned sae 

The warnin' Heaven gave. 












c>^ik:^^Ci>4 



APPENDIX. 



553 



OK, THE HAP OF HIND HALBERT. 

[Modern Ballad, founded on an historical in- 
cident. — Thomas Dick.] 

Thou blackbird in green Girtlee, 

Sing on thy fav'rite sang ; 
Till drap the tear frae gloamin's e'e 

The wild wood flowers amang 

And when amang the leaves and flowers, 

That crystal tear shall fa', 
'Twill bathe the bell by Monkland's towers, 

The daisy by Woodha'. 

Beside the roots that nurse thy birk, 

Beneath its branches' shade, 
There gapes a grave, that in the mirk 

O' night twa brithers made. 

Their sister was a bonnie lass; 

A bonnie lad she lo'ed ; 
And aft amang the planting's grass, 

This youthfu' couple v/ooed. 

O fond, fond were their looks o' love ; 

Dear, dear the words they spake ; 
As nought on earth, or even above, 

The vows they pledged could shake. 

But though the simmer's sun be warm, 

For aye it canna shine ; 
'Tis followed soon by autumn's storm, 

Syne winter's cauld and pine. 

Sae love did in Hind Halbert's breast 

By slow degrees decay ; 
Sweet Elis mark'd his change, distrest, 

But wistna why 'twas sae. 

Aye shyer wa3 he when they met, 

And aye to part mair keen ; 
And ilka future tryste he set, 

Had langer aye between. 

O meikle did she weep and wail, 

And meikle sigh'd and said : 
She tauld her brithers a' the tale, 

And askit a' their aid. 



Now they ha'e graith't them wond'rous 
grand, 

And sought Hind Halbert's bower : 
They kyth'd him breadth of Scottish land, 

And yellow gowd for dower, 

Gin he wad soothe her bosom's strife, 

And wed their sister dear ; 
But her he wadna make his wife, 

For rank nor warld's gear. 

Then they're awa' to green Girtlee 

As fast as they may gang ; 
And diggit by the birken tree 

A grave baith deep and lang. 

Syne aff they hied to E'nburgh town, 

Wi' meikle rage and wrath : 
Before the judge for Scotland's crown 

They've ta'en a deadly aith. 

CM 

And there they've sworn the faithless knav • 

Design'd, when day was gane, 
To slay their sister, and that grave 

Had made to bury her in. 

Our gude king sat in Halyrood, 

Drinkin' the bluid-red wine; 
When he received a letter broad 

That his ain judge did sign. 

When he had read the foremost line, 

His brow grew red wi' ire : 
When he had read the hindmost line, 

He flang't into the fire. 



And " Bind the traitor fast," he says, 
" And quick to justice bring ; 

For he wad wrang a bonnie lass, 
Wad rebel against his king." 

The sea is wide, but o'er its tide, 

The youth is far awa' ; 
And friends he left o' hope bereft, 

Are laith and lauely a*. 

When years o' mingled grief and glee 
Had come and wearied past, 

King James wad journey forth to see 
His islands in the west. 

His train twined down by green Girtlee, 
In Monkland's towers to rest. 



^ 






V : W;^^^ 



ygjj 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



lfs up and sang the blackibird, 
And he sang loud and clear ; 

And aye the o'erword chiefly heard, 
Was " Judge na till ye speer. 

" O ! wae on fause arbitriment — 

On fause accusers wae : 
They've banished the innocent, 

And let the guilty gae." 

The monarch turn'd him round about, 

Wi' sorrow in his look ; 
And vow'd in midst o' a' his suite, 

By cross and haly book ! 

He gar'd gae hang the brithers bauld, 
Wi' a' their perjur'd band : 

And soon Hind Halbert was recall'd 
Frae far aff foreign land. 



[This is a production of W. J. Meikle, the 
translator of the Lusiad. It first appeared in 
Evans's Collection. — Cumnor is near Abington, 
in Berkshire. — The history of the unhappy 
Countess of Leicester, who was murdjered there 
in Queen Elizabeth's time, may be seen at large 
in Ashmole's Antiquities of Berkshire, in whose 
time the ruins of the hall were still standing. — 
Scott, in his romance of " Kenilworth," has 
immortalized the story.] 

The dews of summer night did fall, 
The moon (sweet regent of the sky) 

Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall, 
And many an oak that grew thereby. 

Now nought was heard beneath the skies, 
(The sounds of busy life were still,) 

Save an unhappy lady's sighs, 

That issued from that lonely pile. 

" Leicester," she cried, " is this thy love 
" That thou so offctos sworn to me, 

To leave me in this lonely grove, 
Immur'd in shameful privity ? 

" No more thou comest with lover's speed, 

Thy once beloved bride to see ; 
But be the alive, or be she dead, 

I fear, stern earl, 's the same to thee. 



£fe " Not so the usage I receiv'd, 

When happy in my father's hall ; 

No faithloss husband then me griev'd, 

No chilling fears did me appal. 

" I rose up with the cheerful morn. 

No lark more blithe, no flow'r more gay ; 
And like the bird that haunts the thorn, 

So merrily sung the live-long day. 

" If that my beauty is but small, 
Among court ladies all despis'd ; 

Why didst thou rend it from that hall, 
Where (scornful earl) it well was priz'd ? 

" And when you first to me made suit, 
How fair I was you oft would say ! 

And, proud of conquest — pluck'd the fruit, 
Then left the blossom to decay. 

' Yes, now neglected and despis'd 
The rose is pale — the lily's dead— 

But he that once their charms so priz'd, 
Is sure the cause those charms are fled. 

" For know, when sick'ning grief doth prey, 
And tender love 's repaid with scorn, 

The sweetest beauty will decay — 

What flow'ret can endure the storm ? 

" At court I'm told is beauty's throne, 
Where every lady 's passing rare ; 

That eastern flow'rs, that shame the sun, 
Are not so glowing, not so fair. 

" Then, earl, why didst thou leave the beds 
Where roses and where lilies vie, 

To seek a primrose, whose pale shades 

Must sicken — when those gaudes are by ? 

" 'Mong rural beauties I was one, 

Among the fields wild flow'rs are fair ; 

Some country swain might me have won, 
And thought my beauty passing rare. 

" But, Leicester, (or I much am wrong,) 
Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows ; 

Kather ambition's gilded crown 

Makes thee forget thy humble spouse. 

" Then, Leicester, why, again I plead, 
(The injur'd surely may repine,) 

Why didst thou wed a country maid, 

When some fair princess might be tliitie ? 






APPENDIX. 




" Why didst thou pniise my humble charms, 
And, oh ! then leave them to decay ? 

"Why didst thou win me to thy arms, 

Then leave me to mourn the live-long day ? 

" The village maidens of the plain 

Salute me lowly as they go ; 
Envious they mark my silken train, 

Nor think a countess can have woe. 

" The simple nymphs ! they little know, 
How far more happy 's their estate — 

— To smile for joy — than sigh for woe — 
— To be content — than to be great. 

*' How far less blest am I than them ? 

Daily to pine and waste with care i 
Like the poor plant, that from its stem 

Divided — feels the chilling air. 

" Nor (cruel earl !) can I enjoy 
The humble charms of solitude ; 

Your minions proud my peace destroy, 
By sullen frowns or pratings rude. 

" Last night, as sad I chanc'd to stray, 
The village death-bell smote my ear ; 

They wink'd aside, and seem'd to say, 
' Countess, prepare — thy end is near.' 

" And now, while happy peasants sleep, 

Here I sit lonely and forlorn ; 
No one to soothe me as I weep, 

Save Philomel on yonder thorn. 

" My spirits flag— my hopes decay — 

Still that dread death-bell smites my ear ; 

And many a boding seems to say, 

' Countess, prepare — thy end is near.' " 

Thus sore and sad the lady griev'd, 
In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear ; 

And many a heartfelt sigh she heav'd, 
And let fall many a bitter tear. 

And ere the dawn of day appear'd, 
In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear, 

Full many a piercing scream was heard, 
And many a cry of mortal fear. 

The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, 
An aerial voice was heard to call, 

And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing 
Around the tow'rs of Cumnor Hall. 



The mastiff howl'd at village door, 

The oaks were shatter'd on the green ; 

Woe was the hour — for never more 
That hapless countess e'er was seen. 

And in that manor now no more 
Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball ; 

For ever since that dreary hour 

Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. 

The village maids, with fearful glance, 
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall ; 

Nor ever lead the merry dance, 

Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. 

Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd, 
And pensive wept the countess' fall, 

As wand"ring onwards they've espied 
The haunted tow'rs of Cumnor Hall. 



Schoolmaster at Mary 



[By John Forbes, 
Culter, upon Deeside.J 

Mubh ye Heighlands, and murn ye LeighlanJs, 

I trow ye ha'e meikle need ; 
For the bonnie burn of Corichie 

Has run this day wi' bleid? * 

The hopeful laird o' Finliter, 

Erie Huntly's gallant son, 
For the love he bare our beauteous quine, 

His gart fair Scotland mone. 

He has braken his ward in Aberdene 
Throu dreid o' this fause Murry •. 

And he 's gather't the gentle Gordon clan, 
An' his father auld Huntly. 

Fain wad he tak' our bonnie guide quine, 

An' beare hir awa' wi' him ; 
But Hurry's slee wyles spoil't a' the sport, 

An' reft him o' lyfe and him. 

Murry gar't rayse the tardy Merns men, 

An A'ngis, an' mony ane mair ; 
Erie Morton, and the Byres lord Lindsay ; 

An' campit at the hill o' Fare. 



* This battle was fought on the Hill of Fair, 
A £8th October, 1562. 







SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



Erie Huntlie came wi' Haddo Gordone, 

An* countit ane thusan men ; 
But Murry had abien twal hunder, 

Wi' sax score horsemen and ten. 

They soundit the bougills an* the trumpits, 
An' marchit on in brave array ; 

Till the spiers an' the axis forgatherit, 
An' than did begin the fray. 

The Gordones sae fercelie did fecht it, 

Withouten terrer or dreid, 
That mony o' Murry's men lay gaspin', 

An' dyit the grund wi' theire bleid. 

Then fause Murry feingit to flee them, 

An' they pursuit at his backe, 
Whan the haf o' the Gordones desertit, 

An' turnit wi' Murray in a crack. 

Wi' hether i' thir bonnits they turnit, 
The traiter Haddo o' their heid, 

An' slaid theire brithers an' their fatheris, 
An' spoilit an' left them for deid. 

Than Murry cried to tak' the auld Gordone, 

An' mony ane ran wi' speid ; 
But Stuart o' Inchbraik had him stickit, 

An' out gushit the fat lurdane's bleid. 

Than they tuke his twa sones quick an' hale, 
An* bare them awa' to Aberdene ; 

But sair did our guide quine lament 

The waefu' chance that they were tane. 

Erie Murry lost mony a gallant stout man, 
The hopefu' laird o' Thornitune, 

Pittera's sons, an Egli's far fearit laird, 
An' mair to mi unkend, fell doune. 

Erie Huntly mist tenscore o' his bra' men, 
Sum o' heigh, and sum o' leigh degree; 

Skeenis youngest son, the pride o' a' the clan, 
Was ther fun' dead, he widna flee. 

This bloody fecht wis fercely faucht 

Octobris aught an' twinty day, 
Crystis fyfteen hundred thriscore yeir 

An' twa will mark the deidlie fray. 

But now the day maist waefu' came, 
That day the quine did grite her fill, 

For Huntlys gallant stalwart sou 
Wis heidit on the heidin hill. 



Eyve noble Gordones wi' him hangit were, 

Upon the samen fatal playne ; 
Crule Murry gar't the waefu' quine Vuke out, 

And see hir lover an' liges slayne. 

I wis our quine had better frinds, 
I wis our countrie better peice ; 

I wis our lords wid na discord, 

I wis our weirs at hame may ceise. 



®5« Wtkt of Xt&ol. 

[From Mr. Kinloch's Collection, where it is 
said to be taken from the recitation of an Idiot 
boy in Wishaw.] 

" I am gaing awa', Jeanie, 

I am gaing awa', 
I am gaing ayont the saut seas, 

I'm gaing sae far awa." 

" Whan will ye marry me, Jamie, 

Whan will ye marry me ? 
Will ye tak' me to your countrie,— 

Or will ye marry me ?" 

" How can I marry thee, Jeanie, 

How can I marry thee ? 
Whan I've a wife and bairns three, — 

Twa wad na Weill agree." 

" Wae be to your fause tongue, Jamie, 
Wae be to your fause tongue ; 

Ye promised for to marry me, 
And has a wife at hame I" 

" If my wife wad dee, Jeanie, 

And sae my bairns three, 
I wad tak* ye to my ain countrie, 

And married we wad be." 

"Oan your head war sair, Jamie, 

an your head war sair, 
I'd tak' the napkin frae my neck, 

And tie doun your yellow hair." 

" I ha'e na wife at a', Jeanie, 

1 ha'e na wife at a', 
I ha'e neither wife nor bairns three, 

I said it to try thee. 

" Blair in Athol is mine, Jeanie, 

Blair in Athol is mine ; 
Bonnie TJunkel is whare I dwell, 

And the boats o' Garry's mine." 



APPENDIX. 



551 



[Modern Ballad. — Peter M'Arthur. — This 
ballad relates to an extraordinary ease of witch- 
craft which occurred in Eenfrewshire shortly 
before the Revolution of 1688. Sir George Max- 
well, Bart., of Pollock House, being suddenly 
seized with grievous pains in his body, was per- 
suaded that he was labouring under the influence 
of witchcraft ; and a young gipsy woman, who 
owed some of his tenants a grudge, undertook to 
point out the culprits who were tormenting him. 
She accordingly accused several of his tenants, 
and, to confirm her accusations, contrived, in one 
or two instances, to secrete small clay models of 
the human figure, stuck with pins, in the dwellings 
of the accused. A special commission was issued 
for the trial of the case on the spot ; and after 
a long investigation, at which were present, be- 
sides some of the lords of justiciary, most of the 
leading men of Eenfrewshire, six or seven unfor- 
tunate creatures were condemned to be stranded 
and burned !— See the case recorded in the His- 
tory of the Renfrewshire "Witches, and also in 
a work recently published at Paisley, entitled, 
The Philosophy of Witchcraft, by John Mitchell. 
— In the ballad here given, the author follows a 
tale told him by his grandfather, who heard it, 
when a boy, from an old man who was butler in 
Pollock House during the time of the occur- 
rence.] 

Sir Georoe Maxwell pining lay ; 

And all by his weary bed, 
The livelong night, and the livelong day, 

They waited to give him aid. 

Weary and worn wi' the burning pain, 

Wi' many a heavy moan , 
He wearied till day was past away, 

And he long'd till night was gone. 

They sought the east, and they sought the 
west, 

To bring Sir George relief; 
But the tide of life seem*d ebbing fast, 

Then heavy and sore was their grief. 

His hunting hounds howl'd to the winds, 

His steeds neigh'd in the stall ; 
The ranger grey, the groom, and hinds, 

Mourn'd round the baronet's hall. 



And aye they spake of bygone years, 

And of all his deeds of j ore ; 
And aye o'er their cheeks fell the briny 
tears, 
For they thought they should see him 
no more. 

Thus pass'd the time, till the autumn's 
breath 

Had witherd the woodlands brown ; 
The fading sun from his cloudy path 

Look'd out wi' an angry frown. 

But darker grew his parting ray, 

An' darker lour'd the cloud ; 
And shorter grew the changing day, 

Till the tempest raved aloud. 

The lightning gleam'd, the thunder roar'd 
Through the heavens resounding far ; 

The flooding rain in torrents pour'd 
Through the winter's opening war. 

The Cart came down frae bank to brae, 
While the broken boughs and leaves 

Arose and fell in the splashing spray, 
Wi' the harvest's scatter'd sheaves. 

They looked abroad from the baronet's 
tower 

On the dreary driving blast, 
As darkly the night began to lower, 

They thought it was his last. 

All mournfully silent around they stood, 

For the haly man was there ; 
They felt their despairing grief subdued 

By the sound of his soothing prayer. 

Nor had he paused, when a gentle calm 

Fell o'er the earth and sky; 
The woods seem'd sleeping in dusky balm, 

The moon shone fair and high. 

The baronet closed his eyes in rest — 

A repose sae calm and deep*, 
His lady trembling touch'd his breast 

To know if 'twas death or sleep. 

The wond'ring lady saw with delight 
The change an hour had wrought, 

On the wasted cheek of her own true 
knight, 
And still as she wond'ring thought, 



558 



SCOTTISH BALLADS. 






A sound was heard at the western door, 

A soft and gentle call ; 
Like music sweet on the midnight hour, 

It echoed through the hall. 

They open'd the door : a lady pass'd 

"With noiseless step and light, 
•Neath many a curved arch, at last 

To the chamber door of the knight. 

Sir George awoke from an hour's repose — 

'Twas an hour of blissful rest ; 
He felt relieved from the burning throes 

That had wrung his heaving breast. 

He gaz'd all around with wond'ring eye, 

And said with voice so bland — 
" Is the troubled day of life gone by ? 

Do I wake in the happy land? 

" Or do I dream ? — ! it was but a dream, 

For I thought a stranger came, 
Wi' looks more mild than the moon's fair beam, 

And she sooth'd my weary frame. 

" She seem'd a thing too fair and blight 

For life's brief troubled span, 
From another world a soothing light 

For the woes of sinful man." 

Sadly he paus'd, and around he gaz : d, 

Ere a moment came and fled ; 
On the stranger's form they look'd amaz'd, 

In silence they stood by his bed. 

Her robe was white as the stainless light 
That beams on the wintry snow ; 

The streamers that play o'er the vault of night 
Was its thin and graceful flow. 

A dazzling ray, like the mists that play 
Round the mountain's falling stream, 

When it wreathes afar its silvery spray 
On the morning's glit'ring beam, 

Around her dwelt; and no dark shade 

Betray'd that mortal was there; 
Through the chamber fair she noiseless sped, 

As if borne on the yielding air. 

With soothing smile she look'd the while, 

As she said with heavenly air — 
" We have pitied Sir George's woeful toil, 

Heaven heard the good mans prayer. 



" On errands of love, for mortal weal, 

I journey from hall to bower; 
To wreck the wizard's enchanting spell, 

And spoil their revengeful power. 

" Deep in old Crookston's dreariest cell, 
There a wild and haggard band, 

With their incantations dark and fell 
Sits around the smouldering brand. 

" And there through many a dreary night 
They have wrought thee woe and scathe : 

But heaven has pitied thy woeful plight, 
And spoil'd their spiteful wrath." 

And still she stay'd with kindly aid 

Till the dawning morn arose, 
Till all the pains frae his bosom were fled, 

She soothed his soft repose ; 

Till the twilight gr^- was waning away, 
And the thin clouds flitted by ; 

And the silvery stars, with less'ning ray, 
Grew pale in the azure sky. 

And thrice she look'd, with lingering gaze, 
To the bed where the baronet lay ; 

Then wrapt in a veil of the morning haze 
She glided in silence away. 

All mute and amaz'd the menials stay'd, 
They knew not whence nor where 

She came or went, but wond'ring, they said, 
She rais'd them from sad despair. 

Sir George arose, he trod the hall, 
And stretch'd his friendly hand 

To his trusty servants one and all, 
But he gave this stern command ; 

To range the country far and near, 

Each dingle and secret bower, 
Each mouldering vault, and dungeon drear 

Of Crookston's lonely tower : 

To wreck their haunts by craig and scaur, 

To drag the band to light, 
To bind them fast with lock and bar 

Ere the fall o' the coming night. 

They bound them all with hemp and chain, 
They've bound them firm and fast; 

O ne'er shall they trouble Sir George again. 
Nor ride on the midnight blast. 






559 






For still it is told by legends old, 
And by wither'd dame and sire, 

When they sit secure from the winter'3 cold 
All around the evening fire, 

How the fagots blaz'd on the gallow green, 
Where they hung the witches high; 

And their smouldering forms were grimly 
seen, 
Till darken 'd the lowering sky. 






[William Thom of Inverury. — An ancestor of 
James Adam Gordon, Esq., the present laird of 
Knockespock, about a century and a half ago, 
in a second marriage, had taken to wife the 
lovely Jean Leith of Harthill. His affectionate 
lady, notwithstanding their great disparity of 
age, watched the chamber of her sick husband 
by day and by night, and would not divide her 
care with any one. Worn out and wasted from 
continued attendance on her husband, she fell 
into a sleep, and was awakened only by the 
smoke and flames of their burning mansion ; 
the menials had fled — the doom of the dying 
laird and his lady seemed fixed. In her heroic 
affections she bore her husband from the burn- 
ing house — ^aid him in a sheltered spot, and 
lon*d through the very flames for " plaids to 
wrap him in."] 

Ae wastefu' howl o'er earth an' sea, 

Nae gleam o' heaven's licht 
Might mark the bounds o' Benachie 

That black an' starless nicht. 

Siclike the nicht, siclike the hour, 

Siclike the wae they ken, 
Wha watch till those lov'd eyes shall close 

That ne'er may ope again. 

As gin to tak* the last lang look, 

He raised a lichtless e'e ; 
Now list, O, thou, his lady wife, 

Knockespock speaks to thee ! 

" Sit doun, my Jeanie Gordon, love, 

Sit doun an' haud my head ; 
There's sic a lowe beneath my brow 

Maun soon, soon be my dead. 




" Aye whaur ye find the stoun, oh, Jean, 

Press tae your kindly han' ; 
I wadna gi'e ae breath o' thee 

For a' else on my Ian'. 

" Your couthie words dreep medicine, 

Your very touch can heal ; 
An' oh, your e'e does mair for me 

Than a' our doctor's skill i" 

She leant athwart his burnin' brow, 

Her tears lap lichtly doun ; 
Beneath her saft, saft, dautin' han' 

Knockespock sleepit soun'. 

For woman's watch is holiness — 

In woman's heart, sae rare, 
When a' the warld is cauld an' dark, 

There's licht an' litheness there ! 

What's yon that tints the deep dark brae, 

An' flichers on the green ? 
It's no the rays o' morning grey, 

Nor yet the bonnie meen i 

That licht that flares on Benachie 

Knockespock weel may rue ; 
Nor Gadie's stream would dit yon gleam 

That wraps his dwallin' now. 

But what recks she how fast they flee — 
The heartless hinds are gane ; 

Are nane to help their listless laird ? 
Their friendless lady ? Nane ' 

Yet woman's love, O, woman's love, 

The wide unmeasured sea 
Is nae so deep as woman's love, 

As her sweet sympathy ! 

Upon the wet an' windy sward 

She wadna let him down, 
But wiled an' wiled the lithest beild 

Wi' breckans happet roun'. 

Knockespock's cauld, he's deadly cauld — 

Whaur has his lady gane ? 
How has she left him in the loan 

A' tremblin' there alane ? 

An' has she gane for feckless gowd, 

To tempt yon fearfu' lowe ? 
Or is her fair mind, wreck'd and wrang, 

Forgane its guidance now ? 



(Ms* 






SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



She fearless speels the reekin' tow'r, 
Though red, red is the w a', 

An' braves the deaf nin' din an' stour, 
Whare cracklin' rafters fa'. 

It is na gowd, nor gallant robes, 
Gars Jeanie Gordon rin ; 

But she has wiled the saftest plaids 
To wrap her leal lord in. 

For woman's heart is tenderness, 

Yet woman weel may dare 
The deftest deed, an' tremble nane, 
°oy Gin true love be her care. 






::'i 



" The lowe has scaith'd your locks, my Jean, 
An' scorch'd your bonnie brow ; 

The graceless flame consumes our hame — 
What thinks my lady now ?" 

" My locks will grow again, my love, 

My broken brow will men', 
Your kindly breast's the lealest hame 

That I can ever ken ; 

" But, O, that waesome look o' thine, 

Knockespock, I wad gi'e 
The livin' heart frae out my breast 

For aught to pleasure thee I" 

Weel, woman's heart ! ay, woman's heart ! 

There grows a something there, 
The sweetest flower on bank or bower 

Maun nane wi' that compare. 



[Modern Ballad. — Ebskine Conolly.] 

Why hies yonder wicht wi' sic tremblin' speed 
Whar the saughs and the fir-trees grow ? 

And why stands he wi' sic looks o' dreid 
Whar the waters wimplin' flow ? 

O eerie the tale is that I could impart, 
How at Yule's black and dreary return, 

Cauld curdles the bluid at the bauldest heart, 
As it crosses the Dennan Burn 1* 



'Twas Yule's dread time, when the spirits ha'e 
power 
Through the dark yetts o' death to return ;— 
'Twas Yule's dread time, and the mid-nicht 

hour 
When the witches astride on the whirlwinds 
ride 
On their way to the Dennan Burn ! 

The ill-bodin' howlet screight eerily by, 
And loudly the tempest was ravin', 

When shrill on the blast cam' the weary wo- 
man's cry, 
And the screams o' the greetin' bairn ! 

" 0, open the door, for I've tint my gate, 

And the frost winds snelly blaw ! 
save my wee bairn frae a timeless fate, 

Or its grave is the driftin' snaw !" 

" Now get on your gate, ye fell weird wife — 

Ower my hallan ye sail na steer ; 
Though ye sicker can sweep through the tem- 
pest's strife, 
On my lintel-stane is the rowan-tree rife, 

And ye daurna enter here !" 

" nippin' and cauld is the wintry blast, 

And sadly I'm weary and worn ; 
O save my wee bairn — its blood's freezin' fast, 

And we'll baith live to bless ye the morn !" 

" Now get on your gate, ye unco wife : 

Nae scoug to sic gentry I'll gi'e ; 
On my lintel the red thread and rowan-tree is 
rife, 

And ye daurna lodge wi' me !" 

Sair, sair she prigget, but prigget in vain, 

For the auld carle drove her awa' ; 
And loud on the nicht breeze she vented her 

mane, 
As she sank, wi' her bairn, ne'er to waken again, 

Whar the burn ran dark through the snaw. 

And aften sin' syne has her ghaist been seen 
Whar the burn winds down by the fern ; 

And aft has the traveller been frighted at e'en, 
By the screams o' the greetin' bairn. 












SKitcS o 9 ^itttnfoiwin. 



[A Legendary Ballad, by David Tedder.] 

There woned a wife in Pittenweern, 
And a greusorae cummer was she ; 

Sae glimpse o' grace was in her heart, 
Nor spark o' humanitie. 

Her tawny face was furrowed ower 
Like a beggar's hoggart hose ; 

>"ae tinkler's pike-staff had a cleek 
lhat could match this carline's nose. 

Her een they goggled like a fiend's, 

Htr chin was clad wi' hair, 
And her crooked stumps pushed out her 
lips 

Like the tusks o' a Lapland bear. 

Her voice was like the howlet's scream, 

Or like the carrion craw's ; 
An' the nails upon her finger-ends 

Were like a griffin's claws. 

And ower her crooked shoulders hung 
A cloak that had ance been red ; 

But the curch was as black as Acheron 
That covered the beldame's head. 

She dearly loved the comet's glare, 
But she hated the light o' day ; 

And she banned the beams o' the blessed 
sun 
As he rose ower the Isle o' May. 

She's hied her whar twa highways cross 

Low in a dreary dell, 
Far, far beyond the haly sound 

O' the abbey's kirsened bell. 

And she's knelt upon a suicide's grave, 
And invokit Sathan's name; 

And muttered mony a horrid spell, 
Till the grisly monster came. 

And there she renouncit her mither's 
creed, 

And eke her father's faith ; 
And there she made a solemn league 

And covenant wi' Death. 






561 

'■ 

She's pierced a vein on her withered hide, 

As she pawned her sinful soul ; (-, jj 

And with the blood whilk was nearest her heart Xji;/ 
She has signed the fearfu' scroll. 

And when she delivered the fatal brief, fSfc=t 

Weel written, signed, an' sealed, ^ s Jlp\ 

A thousand phantoms, mirk as night, )c WZf 

A horrid anthem pealed. L s ^j 

And the screechin' o' the demons dark /^fej 

Seemed music till her ear ; f j J 

And aye she called the Evil One 6~ir 
Her lord and master dear. 

An 1 she has abjured the blessed sign, 

"Which fiends an' demons fear ; 
And aye she called the Evil One 

Her lord and master dear. 

And the more to prove her allegiance true, 

Like a vassal gude an' leal, 
She has branded her banes wi' Sathan's mark, 

And her flesh wi' his privy seal. 

He's gi'en her seven deadly imps 

As black as the midnight clud ; 
And he's bidden her suckle them at her teats, 

And nourish them wi' her blood. 

He's gi'en her a spindle frae his belt, 

"Whilk unto hers she hungi 
The whorle o't was a scaly snake 

Lolim' out its forked tongue. 

He's gi'en her a staff in til her hand, 

Cut frae the gallows wood, 
Weel virled about wi' murderer's bancs. 

And varnished wi" felon's blood. 

But the foul fiend snorted like a wolf, 

Wi' dreddour an' wi' fear ; 
Syne flew to hell wi' an eldritch yell, 

For he scentit the morning air. 

Heist night she proudly mounted her nag, 

Like the queen o' hellish hags, 
While a' her imps, fu' cozii :?, 

Lay nestled in her rags. 

Ower brake an' mould, ower heath an' wold, 

Fa* swiftlie did she fly; 
An' the little wee starns crap in wi' fear, 

As she glowered up to the sky. 
8» 



^s/K 












5^ c 









£^-=% 



She's killed the heifer on the green, 

The lamb upon the lea ; 
An' the nether millstane rave in twa 

Wi' the glamour o' her e'e. 

And mony a blumin' bairnie pined 

Upon its mither's knee ; 
An' glowered like an unearthly imp, 

An' wad neither live nor dee. 

An' mony a maiden far an' near, 

As sweet as the rose in June, 
Spewt iron skeurs, and crooked preens, 

Ilk ehangin' o' the moon. 

The husbands sighed, the matrons cried, 

Wi' grief the country rang j 
And they murmured at the haly monks 

For tholin' the limmer sae lang. 

The abbot assembled a' his monks 

Upon St. Clement's day ; 
" Mak' haste an' wash in Marie's well, 

And likewise fast an' pray ; 

" Anoint your heads wi' haly oil, 

In haly robes be dight, 
An' trust in gude St. Swithin's strength, 

And sweet St. Marie's might; 
For a deed sail be dune, and that fu' sune, 

That shall sere your souls wi' fright." 

The sheriff has sent his scouts abroad, 
And they sought baith east an' wast, 

Till they cam' to a cave as mirk as the 
grave, 
Where they fand her sleeping fast. 

They trailed her to the abbey yetts, 

And hemmed the hag about ; 
An' they pricket her body frae head to 
heel, 

To find the witch-mark out. 

They bound the caitiff to a bolt, 

Low in the dungeon-keep, 
An' thrice three nights, an' thrice three 
days, 
They kept her een frae sleep ; 
An' they scorched her soles wi" burnin' 
gauds, 
But she wouldna or couldna weep. 



They tied her arms behind her bacfe, 

An* twisted them with a pin ; 
And they dragged her to Kinnoquhar locfa, 

An' coupit the limmer in— 
An' the swans flew screamin' to the hills, 

Scared with the unhaly din. 

When first she defiled the crystal flood, 

She ga'e a gruesome scream, 
But like a bladder fu' o' air, 

She floated on the feam. 

And when the abbot saw her swim 

Like cork abune the flood, 
He breathed an Ave, crossed himsel'. 

And kissed the haly rood ; 
"Avoid thee, Sathan J" the abbot said, 

™ An' a' thy hellish brood." 

An' monk an' layic, priest an' friar, 
Shrunk frae the polluted flood — 

** Avoid thee, Sathan !" was their cry, 
" And all thy sinfu' brood !" 

The abbot pronounced the fearfu' word 
Amidst his monks' acclaims — 

And the civil power has ta'en the witch.. 
And doomed her to the flames. 

They harled the caitiff to the shore, 
And smeared her ower wi' tar, 

An' chained her to an iron bolt, 
An' eke an iron bar. 

They biggit a pile around the hag, 

Twa Soots ells up an' higher; 
An' the hangman cam' wi' a lowin' torch. 

An' lighted the horrid pyre. 

But the gatherin' cluds burst out at last, 
And loud the thun'er roared ; 

The sun withdrew his beams o' light — 
The rain in torrents poured. 

It slockit at ance the witch's fire— 

A dreadfu' sight to see — 
And the wind was lown, an' wadna stir 

The leaves o' the aspen tree ; 
An' monk an' layman crossed themsel'e, 

And prayed to Sanct Marie ! 

But there was a monk amang the rest, 
And ane cunning monk was he, 

Renowned through a' the shire o' Fife 
For lear an' sanctitie. 



■i^Hi^ 










r^x) 



lie lighted his taper at the lamp 

Before St. Marie's shrine ; 
An' reckless o' the foul fiend's powers — 

"Without a cross or sign — 

He stappit up to the witch's pile, 

An' applied the sacred light — 
An' the crackling flames blazed up to heaven 

Like whins on a summer night. 

An' when the flames had reached her heart 

She ga'e an awfu' yell, 
An' her sinfu' spirit winged its flight — 

But where — I darena tell. 

And aye the spot remained a blot 

On nature's beauteous face ; 
For grass never grew, nor fell the dew, 

Upon the accursed place. 




APPENDIX. 



felqp ^Iwt^t 



[First printed in Evans's Collection. — " Soon 
after Stephen's departure for Normandy, (a. d. 
1137,) the king of Scots entered England in a 
hostile manner. — Stephen's government was at 
this time in no condition to have resisted the 
invasion, and nothing could have broke the 
storm, but the venerable Thurstan (Archbishop 
of York) working upon the piety of king David. 
Though this prelate was now very old, yet he 
prevailed with David and his son to meet him at 
Roxburgh, a castle lying near the frontiers of 
both the kingdoms; where his remonstrances 
had such an effect, that the Scottish princes 
generously put a stop to hostilities till Stephen 
should return to England, and be once more 
applied to for a definitive answer concerning the 
investiture of Northumberland. — See Guthrie's 
History of England." — Evans.] 

Through the fair country of Tiviotdale, 

Kin? David marched forth ; 
King David and his princely son, 

The heroes of the north. 

And holy Thurstan fro' merry Carlisle, 

In haste his way doth wind ; 
With many a cross-bearer going before, 

And many a knight behind. 



And many did bless that holy bishop, 

As evermore they may ; 
For well they knew 'twas for holy peace 

That he did wend that way. 

And at the castle of fair Roxburgh 

The king and bishop drew near, 
Their horns resounding o'er the hills, 

Their banners shining far. 

" Now welcome, welcome holy Thurstan, 

Right welcome unto me, 
And ever it cheers me sooth to say, 

So holy a man to see." 

" No king is welcome unto me, 

Nor for him will I pray, 
Who comes to ravage a helpless land, 

When it's king is far away." 

Oh then bespake king David, 

And full of wrath spake he : 
" Now I swear by the rood, th* English king 

Hath evermore injur'd me. 

" Fro' my son he keeps th' investiture 

Of Northumberland, his right : 
And ever I'll harrow that unjust king, 

By Christ in heaven his might." 

Oh then bespake the holy Thurstan, 

And full of woe spake he : 
" Christ, thy kingdom of heav'nly bliss, . 

Alas ! when shall we see ? 

" For here on earth is nought but sin, 

E'en kings for pride do ill; 
And when they with each other war, 

The poor folk's blood must spill. 

" What hath the husbandman done wrong, * 
That ye must spoil his grain ; ( 

And what the poor widow, and what the child, 
That they must all be slain ? 

" And what is the simple maid to blame, ) 

To be made of lust the prey ; 
And what the lowly village priest, 

That ye so oft do slay ? 

p 

" Ah ! tyrant kings, shall not the Lord 

Revenge the poor distrest ; 
The simple swain, the helpless maid, 

The widow, and the priest ? 




@ 564 



SCOTTISH BALLADS, 






P 






i 



"stf 



" And when the doleful day of doom 

Shall call ye fro' the grave ; 
Fro' the crying blood of those innocents, 

What, tyrants, shall ye save ? 

" Think ye that Christ, (whose gentle laws 

Aye breathe so mild a strain,) 
Think you that Christ (of mercy king) 

Will free you fro' the pain ? 

" Did he not die all on the rood, 

And all for the love of man r" 
And will he then save their guilty souls, 

Who so many men have slain ? 

" Far sooner, oh king ! would I lay in mire, 

Than sit upon a throne ; 
Far sooner, oh king ! would I beg my bread, 

Than wear a golden crown. 

" For shall not the judge of all do right, 

At the doleful doom's day ? 
Then what will avail your crowns and thrones, 

And your states and courtiers gay ? 

" Now think thee well, oh mortal king ! 

And thy proud misdeeds bemoan ; 
Oh think what will save thy hapless soul, 

When thy pomp shall all be gone. 

" Nor fancy that alms will save thy soul 
Though bounteous they be giv'n ; 

Nor the rearing of abbies, all rich endow'd, 
Will carry thy soul to heav'n. 

" Full well I know the oraving monks 

Have many a one beguil'd; 
And oft, when a man's laid on his death bed, 

They rob the widow and child. 

" But rouze thy reason, oh noble king ! 

Nor heed the cloisterd drone ; 
For nothing there is a man can do, 

For bloodshed shall atone : 

'* Save the merits of him, who for our sins 

Died on the precious rood ; 
And ever the crime that most he hates, 

Is shedding of man's blood." 



i cA All woe-begone then spoke the king, 
y And the tears ran fro' his eyne : 

" And ever I thank thee, holy Thurstan, 
"V* J For thy counsel so divine. 



" But heav'n doth know that from my heart, 

I hate to kill and slay ; 
And ever I hinder my men at arms, 

As ever more I may. 

" And fain would I save the peasant swain, 

And the widow poor distrest; 
And the helpless maid and simple child, 

And eke the lowly priest." 

Oh then bespake prince Henry brave, 

As he stood by the king ; 
" Father, I know thy conscience clear 

As water fro' the spring, 

" And if, in avenging of our wrongs 

Full many a one is slain, 
And the bloody warrior doth great spojl^ 

Art thou, good king, to blame ?" 

" Too hasty prince," the bishop cried, 

" To ravage is a shame ; 
And when the warriors do great spoil, 

Their prince is all to blame. 

" Why not go meet your royal foe, 

Like men in open field ; 
And if he will not right your wrongs, 

Then take to sword and shield ? 

" And not when our king is far away, 

To ravage the country o'er ; 
To murder the weak and the innocent, 

And cruelly spoil the poor." 

Oh then bespake the Scottish king, 

Like a noble king spake he : 
" Oh, I will wait till your king Stephen 

Doth come fro* o'er the sea. 

" Then, reverend Thurstan, if thy king 

No more our right delays, 
But will invest my son in Northumberland, 

Then will we go our ways. 

" But if, when he's come to merry England, 

He will not do us right, 
Oh then will I harrow that unj ust king, 

By Christ in heaven his might." 

" Now dost thou speak like a noble king," 

The holy Thurstan cried ; 
" And now do I welcome thee, royal king, 

Of Scotland aye the pride. 



W3) 






V?" 7 

i 



rW 



^\3 



*' And when my liege shall come again, 

Then may he do thee right I" 
** Or he shall rue," cried that valiant king, 

" By Christ in heav'n his might." 

And there, while the merry bells did ring, 
And the minstrels blith did play, 

The Scottish princes and the good bishop 
Did feast for many a day. 

Full many did bless that holy man, 

As he sat in the hall, 
And merrily sang ; for well they knew. 

He had rescued them fro' thrall. 

And many a husbandman was blith 

As he did reap his grain ; 
" And but for Thurstan, that holy bishop, 

This all away had been ta'en ; 

" And I had been kill'd, and many beside, 
With our wives and children all : 

And may heav'n aye prosper that holy bishop, 
That hath rescued us fro' thrall '." 



9}aug|pttit0. 

[A portion of this ballad, with the original 
tune, is given in Johnson's Museum. Ritson 
^Vf" 1 quotes the whole from a stall copy. Burns, in 
fA^\ 6peaking of it, gives the first line thus : 
yjfpgH «' The 'Lord' of Gordon had three daughters," 

P- j^-J which is probably the original reading, as the 
^(30 dukedom of Gordon was not created till the 
0,^-^-3 year 1684.— George (Gordon) fourth earl of 
' ; ) Huntly, who succeeded his grandfather, earl 
Alexander, in 1523, and was killed at the battle 
of Coricbie, in 1563, had actually three daughters : 
ST^ lady Elizabeth, the eldest, married to John earl 
of Athole ; lady Margaret, the second, to John 
lord Forbes ; and lady Jean, the youngest, to 
the famous James earl of Bothwell, from whom 
being divorced, anno 1568, she married Alexan- 
der earl of Sutherland, who died in 1594, and, 
surviving him, Alexander Ogilvie of Boyne. As 
for Alexander Ogilvie, he appears to have suc- 
ceeded his father, Sir Walter Ogilvie, in the 
barony of Boyne, about 1560, and to have died in . 



1606 ; this lady Jean being his first wife, by whom 
he seems to have had no issue. See Gordon's His- / = 
tory of the Gordons, and Douglas's Peerage, and vf 3 
Baronage.] 

Tint duke of Gordon has three daughters, 

Elizabeth, Margaret, and Jean ; 
They would not stay in bonnie Castle-Gordon, 

But they would go to bonnie Aberdeen. 

They had not been in Aberdeen 

A twelvemonth and a day, 
Till lady Jean fell in love with captain Ogilvie, 

And away with him she would gae. 

Word came to the duke of Gordon, 

In the chamber where he lay, 
Lady Jean has fell in love with captain Ogilvie, ' 

And away with him she would gae. I \^ 

" Go saddle me the black horse, 

And you'll ride on the gray ; 
And I will ride to bonnie Aberdeen, 

Where I have been many a day." 

They were not a mile from Aberdeen, 

A mile but only three, 
Till he met with his two daughters walking, 

But away was lady Jean. 

" Where is your sister, maidens ? 

Where is your sister, now ? 
Where is your sister, maidens, 

That she is not walking with you ?" 

" O pardon us, honoured father, 

O pardon us, they did say ; 
Lady Jean is with captain Ogilvie, 

And away with him she will gae." 

When he came to Aberdeen, 

And down upon the green, 
There did he see captain Ogilvie, 

Training up his men. 

" wo to you, captain Ogilvie, 

And an ill death thou shalt die ; 
For taking to my daughter, 

Hanged thou shalt be." 

Duke Gordon has wrote a broad letter, 

And sent it to the king, 
To cause hang captain Ogilvie, 

If ever he hanged a man. 



" I will not hang captain Ogilvie, 

<J\j?0 But I'll cause him to put off the lace and scarlet, 
And put on the single livery." 

'% -- J Word came to captain Ogilvie, 
I In the chamber where he lay, 

>c l./\ To cast off the gold lace and scarlet, 
■^1 ^M And put on the single livery. 

f^fTN " If this be for bonnie Jeany G-ordon, 

Yt cj / This pennance I'll take wi' ; 

e/V-- 3 If this be bonnie Jeany Gordon, 

£ Cg( } All this I will dree. ' ' 

HrV| Lady Jean had not been married, 
Not a year but three, 
^Jy\ Till she had a babe in every arm, 
{/ ^ J Another upon her knee. 

=r " O but I'm weary of wandering ! 
*\JP— J O but my fortune is bad ! 

^'C'Qy ** sets not tJie duke of G " ordon ' s daughter 
6Y"?? To follow a soldier lad. 

I \J$^f) " but I'm weary of wandering ! 
, ry^}, O but I think lang ! 

k(5'p>. j t sets not ^g (jy^e f Gordon's daughter 

oj^Z To follow a single man." 

1 y§p\ When they came to the Highland hills, 
\ f^H=£ Cold was the frost and snow ; 

Lady Jean's shoes they were all torn, 
y #^~- ^ No farther could she go. 

(.A q\ " ° ! wo to tIie huls and the mountains ! 
| y ==" e\ Wo to the wind and the rain ! 

My feet is sore with going barefoot, 
: X^/zx 7 ) No further am I able to gang. 

s //5\ " Wo to the hills and the mountains ! 
L^ J Wo to the frost and the snow ! 
My feet is sore with going barefoot, 
\ r?-^k No farther am I able for to go." 

- C- ~^S " O ! if I were at the glens of Foudlen, 

Where hunting I have been, 
« W-^=J I would find the way to bonnie Castle -Gordon, 
> VofPf') Without either stockings or shoon." 

ff x ^\ When she came to Castle-Gordon, 
And down upon the green, 
The porter gave out a loud shout, 
•' O yonder comes lady Jean." 



" you are welcome, bonnie Jeany Gordon, 

You are dear welcome to me ; 
You are welcome, dear Jeany Gordon, 

But away with your captain Ogilvie." 

Now over seas went the captain, 

As a soldier under command ; 
A message soon followed after, 

To come and heir his brother's land. 

" Come home, you pretty captain Ogilvie, 

And heir your brother's land ; 
Come home, ye pretty captain Ogilvie, 

Be earl of Northumberland." 

" ! what does this mean ?" says the captain, 
" Where's my brother's children three ?" 

" They are dead and buried, 

And the lands they are ready for thee." 

" Then hoist up your sails, brave captain, 

Let's be jovial and free ; 
I'll to Northumberland, and heir my estate, 

Then my dear Jeany I'll see." 

He soon came to Castle-GorJon, 

And down upon the green ; 
The porter gave out with a loud shout, 

" Here comes captain Ogilvie." 

" Your welcome, pretty captain Ogilvie, 
Your fortune's advanced I hear ; 

No stranger can come into my gates, 
That I do love so dear." 

" Sir, the last time I was at your gates, 

You would not let me in ; 
I'm come for my wife and children, 

No friendship else I claim." 

"Come in pretty captain Ogilvie, 

And drink of the beer and the wine j 

And thou shalt have gold and silver, 
To count till the clock strike nine." 

" I'll have none of your gold and silver, 
Nor none of your white money; 

But I'll have bonnie Jeany Gordon, 
And she shall go now with me." 

Then she came tripping down the stair, 

With the tear into her eye ; 
One babe was at her foot, 

Another upon her knee. 






® 



567 C 



=V " You're welcome, bonnie Jeany Gordon, 

ex) With ray young family ; 

*~JL Mount and go to Northumberland, 

tr There a countess thcu shall be." 



vm 






[Burns sent this old fragment of a ballad to 
Johnson's Museum. He had heard it sung to the 
tune of " A Country Lass," and it is accordingly 
given with that air.] 

There was a battle in the North, 

And nobles there were many, 
And they ha'e kill'd Sir Charlie Hay, 

And they laid the wyte on Geordie. 

O he has written a lang letter, 

He sent it to his lady ; 
" Ye maun cum up to E'nbrugh town, 

To see what word's o' Geordie." 

When first she look'd the letter on, 

She was baith red and rosy ; 
But she hadna read a word but twa, 

Till she wallow't like a lily. 

" Gar get to me my gude grey steed, 

My menzie a' gae wi' me; 
For I shall neither eat nor drink, 

Till E'nbrugh town shall see me." 

And she has mountit her gude grey steed, 

Her menzie a' gaed wi' her ; 
And she did neither eat nor drink 

Till E'nbrugh town did see her. 

And first appear'd the fatal block, 
And syne the aix to head him ; 

And Geordie cumin down the stair, 
And bands o' aim upon him. 

But tho' he was chain'd in fetters Strang, 

O' airn and steel sae heavy, 
There was nae ane in a' the court, 

Sae bra' a man as Geordie. 

O she's down on her bended knee, 

I wat she's pale and weary, 
" pardon, pardon, noble king, 

And gi'e me back my dearie ! 



" I ha'e born seven sons to my Geordie dear, 
The seventh ne'er saw his daddie ; 

pardon, pardon, noble king, 
Pity a waefu' lady !" 

" Gar bid the headin' man mak' haste," 

Our king reply'd fu* lordly : 
" O noble king, tak' a' that's mine, 

But gi'e me back my Geordie." 

The Gordons cam' and the Gordons ran, 
And they were stark and steady ; 

And aye the word amang them a', 
Was, " Gordons keep you ready." 

An aged lord at the king's right hand 
Says, " Noble king, but hear me ; 

Gar her tell down five thousand pound, 
And gi'e her back her dearie." 

Some ga'e her marks, some ga'e her crowns, 

Some ga'e her dollars many ; 
And she's tell'd down five thousand pound, 

And she's gotten again her dearie. 

She blinkit blythe in her Geordie 's face, 
Says, " Dear I've bought thee, Geordie ; 

But there sud been bluidy bouks on the green. 
Or I had tint my laddie." 

He elaspit her by the middle sma', 

And he kist her lips sae rosy : 
" The fairest flower o' woman -kind 

Is my sweet, bonnie lady !" 



GEOKDIE. 

[Another version, from Mr. Kinloch's Col- 
lection. — Mr. Kinloch is inclined to assign the 
sixteenth century as the date of this production. 
" It appears," he says, " to have originated in 
the factions of the family of Huntly, during the 
reign of Queen Mary; and the following passage 
in Buchanan, relates to a transaction which pro- 
bably gave rise to this ballad. — * After this, when 
the state of the public seemed to be somewhat 
settled, the Queen -regent (as now she was called) 
sent out George Gordon, earl of Huntly, to ap- 
prehend John Muderach, chief of the family of 
the M'Ronalds, a notorious robber who had 
played many 'foul and monstrous pranks. It is 
thought that Gordon did not play fair in this 



"IJ 5G8 




3^ 

SCOTTISH BALLADS. 



' >^ : : / '- 



expedition ; so that when he returned without % 
doing the business he was sent about, he was 

1 kept prisoner till the time appointed for his an- 
swer. Gordon being in prison, the Queen- 

: regent's council were of different opinions as to 

I his punishment. Some were for his banishment 
for several years into France ; others for putting 

i him to death ; but both these opinions were re- 
jected by Gilbert, earl of Cassils, the chief of his 
enemies. For he foreseeing by the present state 

I of things, that the peace between the Scots and 
the French would not be long-lived, was not for 
his banishment into France ; for he knew a man 
of so crafty a spirit, and so spiteful at those who 

j blamed or envied him, would, in the war which 

' the insolence of the French was like speedily to 
occasion, be a perfect incendiary, and perhaps a 
general for the enemy. And he was more against 
putting him to death, because he thought no 

' private offence worthy of so great punishment, 
or to be so revenged, as to inure the French to 

! spill the blood of the nobility of Scotland. And 

, therefore he went a middle way, that he should 
be fined and kept in prison till he yielded up the 

| right which he pretended to have over Murray, 
&c. Upon these conditions he was dismissed.' — ■ 

\ Hist. Scot. 1799, Vol. II. p. 222."] 

J 

1 There was a battle in the North, 

\ And rebels there were monie ; 

/ And monie ane got broken heads, 

4 And taken was my Geordie. 

J My Geordie O, my Geordie O, 

O the love I bear to Geordie ; 
For the very grund I walk upon 
Bears witness I lo'e Geordie. 

I 

* As she gaed up the tolbooth stair, 
) The cripples there stood monie ; 

j And she dealt the red gowd them among, 

To pray for her love Geordie. 

And whan she cam' into the hall, 
The nobles there stood monie, — 

And ilka ane stood hat on head, 
But hat in hand stood Geordie. 

Up bespak' a Norlan' lord, 

I wat he spak' na bonnie, — 
" If ye'll stay here a little while, 

Ye'll see Geordie hangit shortly." 



Then up bespak' a baron bold, 

And but he spak* bonnie ;— 
" If ye'll pay doun five hundred crowns, 

Ye'se get you true-love Geordie." 

Some lent her guineas, some lent her crowns, 

Some lent her shillings monie ; 
And she's paid doun five hundred crowns, 

And she's gotten her bonnie love Geordie. 

When she was mounted on her hie steed, 

And on ahint her Geordie; 
Na bird on the brier e'er sang sae clear, 

As the young knight and his ladie : — 

" My Geordie O, my Geordie 0, 
O the love I bear to Geordie , 

The very stars in the firmament, 
Bear tokens I lo'e Geordie." 



[Modern Ballad.— Kobert Chambehs.] 

Young Randal was a bonnie lad, when he gaed 

awa', 
Young Randal was a bonnie lad, when he gaed 

awa' ; 
'Twas in the sixteen hundred year o' grace and 

thretty-twa, 
That Randal, the Laird's youngest son, gaed awa'. 

It was to seek his fortune in the High Germanie, 
To fecht the foreign loons in the High Germanie, 
That he left his father's tower o* sweet Willanslee, 
And mony wae friends i' the North Countrie. 

He left his mother in her bower, his father in the 

ha', 
His brother at the outer yett, but and his sisters 

twa, 
And his bonnie cousin Jean, that look'd owre 

the castle wa', 
And, mair than a' the lave, loot the tears down fa'. 

'* Oh, whan will ye be back," sae kindly did she 

spier, 
" Oh, whan will ye be back, my hinny and my 

dear?" 
" Whenever I can win eneuch o' Spanish gear 
To dress ye out in pearlins and silks, my dear." 



•' 




Oh, Randal's hair was coal-black when he gaed^ himself (Angus) remained a 



I 



.-) awa, 

■■- -% Oh, Randal's cheeks were roses red, when he 

^ gaed awa'j 

J* And in his bonnie e'e, a spark glintit high, 

: \ Like the merrie, merrie look, in the morning sky. 

~,\ Oh, Randal wa3 an altert man whan he came 

& hame, 

PI A sair altert man was he, whan he came hame ; 

\ Wi' a ribbon at his breast, and a Sir at his name, 

* ) And grey, grey cheeks, did Randal come hame. 



He lichtit at the outer yett, and rispit wi' the 

ring, 
And down came a ladye to see him come in, 
And after the ladye came bairns feiteen — 
" Can this muckle wife be my true love, Jean ?" 

" Whatna stoure carl is this," quo' the dame ; 
" Sae gruff and sae grand, and sae feckless and 

sae lame ?" 
" Oh, tell me, fair madam, are ye bonnie Jeanie 

Graham e ?" 
" In troth," quo' the ladye, " Sweet sir, the very 

same." 

He turned him about, wi' a waeful e'e, 

And a heart as sair as sair could be ; 

He lap on his horse, and awa' did wildly flee, 

And never mair came back to sweet Willanslee. 

Oh, dule on the poortith o' this countrie, 
And dule on the wars o' the High Germanie, 
And dule on the love that forgetfu' can be — 
For they've wreck'd the bravest heart in this 
hale countrie. 



[Modern Ballad. — John Finlay. — " About 
this time, the king (James V.) resolves to be- 
siege Tantallon Castle, in Lowthian, some six- 
teen miles from Edinburgh ; and for that pur* 
pose causes bring ordinance, powder, and bullet, 
from Dumbar, which was then kept by the ser- 
vants of the late governour the duke of Albanie, 
as a portion of his patrimony. There was in 
Tantallon one Simeon Panangoe, with a compe- 
tent number of men, well furnished, and pro- 
vided both with victuals and munition. The earl 



Ws 



U^ 



within his baronie of Bonkle, not willing to shut 
himself up within the wals of any strength ; hav- 
ing ever in his mouth this maxime, (which he 
had received from his predecessors,) ' That it 
was better to hear the lark sing than the mouse 
cheep.' The castle was well defended for certain 
dayes, none hurt within ; many without were 
wounded with shot from the castle, and some 
burnt and scalded with their own powder, 
which took fire unawares, and divers killed. 
The besiegers were troubled without by the 
horsemen, who assaulted them daily at their 
trenches ; so that seeing no hope of carrying it, ( 
they raised their siege, and retired. In their 
retreat, they were set upon in the reare by I -IV 
Angus his horsemen, and one David Falconer (a ' 

principall cannonier) slain, with some hired 
muskiteers, and two of the cannons cloyed. This k ■'■ v 
the king took so highly, (esteeming it an affront i§ 
and scorn put upon him,) that he swore openly, '-^"v"' 
that, so long as he lived, the Douglasses should ('.£•/ 
never be received into favour. * * * Hi3 V^-l ( 
implacabilitie did also appear in his carriage to- ' 7 
ward Archibald of Kilspindie, whom he (when / \ -"Vn, 
he was a childe) loved singularly well for his \ c '"o 
abilitie of body, and was wont to call him his /"-C^TX 
Gray Sfceell. Archibald, being banished into {^(^A 
England, could not well comport with the \[' c 
humour of that nation, which he thought to be * ^"%\ 
too proud, and that they had too high a conceit f^ y f\ 
of themselves, joyned with a contempt and de- yCgp y.] 
spising of all others. Wherefore, being wearied 
of that life, and remembring the kings favour of 
old toward him, he determined to trie the king's 
mercifulnesse and clemency. So he comes into 
Scotland, and taking occasion of the kings hunt- 
ing in the park at Stirlin, he casts himself to be 
in his way, as he was coming home to the castle. 
So soon as the king saw him afar off, ere he came 
near, he ghessed it was he, and said to one of his 
courtiers, Yonder is my Gray Steell, Archibald 
of Kilspindie, if he be alive. The other answer- 
ed that it could not be he, and that he durst not 
come into the kings presence. The king ap- 
pi-oaching, he fell upon his knees, and craved 
pardon, and promised from thenceforward to 
abstain from all meddling in publick affairs, and 
to lead a quiet and a private life. The king went 
by without giving him any answer, and trotted a 
good round pace up the hill. Kilspindie follow- 
ed, and (though he wore on him a secret, or 
shirt of maile, for his particular enemies) was as 
soon at the castle gate as the king. There he sat 



3 










?■/, 









( ^jfS him down upon a stone without, and entreated 

Vt^,) some of the kings servants for a cup of drink, 

J^X^being wearie and thirstie; but they, fearing the 

. kings displeasure, durst give him none. When 

Xthe king was sat at his dinner, he asked what he 

had done, what he had said, and whither he was 

"---/gone ? It was told him he had desired a cup of 

\ drink, and had gotten none. The king reproved 

^—gjthem very sharply for their discourtesie, and told 

them, that if he had not taken an oath that no 

( ;i^\ Douglas should ever serve him, he would have 

V v« J received him into his service; for he had seen 

^Jv^TShim some time a man of great abilitie. Then he 

/** QSu sent him word to go to Leith, and expect his 

tarther pleasure. Then some kinsmen of David 

Falconer (the cannonier that was slain at Tan- 

f -€§f*/tallon) began to quarrel with Archibald about 

^Jy*\ the matter, wherewith the king shewed himself 

(/'Vj not well pleased when he heard of it. Then he 

commanded him to go to France for a certain 

1 7 - space, till he heard farther from him ; and so he 

did, and died shortly after. This gave occasion 

to the king of England (Henry the VIII.) to 

blame his nephew, alledging the old saying, 

/77\ \ 4 That a king's face should give grace.' For 

\ viAo) thi s Archibald (whatsoever were Anguses or Sir 

/dX George his fault) had not been principal actor of 

KfoY°)any thing, nor no counsellour, or stirrer up, but 

pT" '-"V onely a follower of his friends, and that no ways 

/ -'7/-~o cruelly disposed." — Hume of Godscroft. 
y|>^] Gray Steel was the name of one of the heroes 
| = ==y in the romance of " Sir Egeir." Douglas of Kil- 
spindie was not the only person who was hon- 
oured with the designation. It seems to have 
been anciently a popular epithet ; for one of 
the earls of Eglintoun, a man of great bodily 
strengh, was so nicknamed, as Crauford calls it. 
See his Peerage of Scotland. — Finlay.] 

cr./Ci^ Wae worth the heart that can be glad, 
KPh\ Wae worth the tear that winna fa', 
L==> ) For justice is fleemyt frae the land, 

An' the faith o' auld times is clean awa'. 

v < r\x"f Our nobles they ha'e sworn an aith, 

( -v p~A An' they gart our young king swear the same, 

] That as lang as the crown was on his head, 
%-^=J He wad speak to nane o' the Douglas name. 

; W? 

An* wasna this a wearifou aith ; 

For the crown frae his head had been tint 
an' gane, 
Gin the Douglas' hand hadna held it on, 



An' the king frae that day grew dowie an* wae, 
For he liked in his heart the Douglas weel ; 

For his foster-brither was Jamie o' Parkhead, 
An' Archy o' Kilspindie was his Gray Steel. 

But Jamie was banisht an' Archy baith, 
An' they lived lang, lang ayont the sea, 

Till a' had forgotten them but the king ; 
An' he whiles said, wi' a watery e'e, — 

" Gin they think on me as I think on them, 
I wot their life is but dreerie." — 

It chanced he rode wi' hound an' horn 
To hunt the dun and the red deer down, 

An' wi' him was mony a gallant earl, 
And laird, and knight, and bold baron. 

But nane was wi' him wad ever compare 
Wi' the Douglas so proud in tower and town, 

That were courtliest all in bower and hall, 
And the highest ever in renown. — 

It was dawn when the hunters sounded the 
horn, 

By Stirlin's walls, sae fair to see ; 
But the sun was far gane down i' the west 

When they brittled the deer on Torwood-lee. 

And wi' jovial din they rode hame to the town 
Where Snawdon* tower stands dark an* hie ; 

Frae least to best they were plyin' the jest, 
An' the laugh was gaun round richt merrily : 

When Murray cried loud,—" Wha's yon I see ? 

Like a Douglas he looks, baith dark and grim ; 
And for a* his sad and weary pace, 

Like them he's richt stark o' arm and limb." 

The king's heart lap, and he shouted wi' glee,— 
" Yon stal worth makedom (• I ken richt weel ; 

And I'se wad in pawn the hawk on my nan*, 
Its Archie Kilspindie, my ain Gray Steel : 

We maun gi'e him grace o' a' his race, 
For Kilspindie was trusty aye, and leal." 

But Lindsay spak' in waefou mood,— 
" Alas ! my liege, that mauna be." 

And stout Kilmaurs cries,—" He that dares, 
Is a traitor to his ain countrie." 



! Snawdon, an ancient name of Stirling. 
Whan anither to help him there was nane. *U t Stalwart makedom, stout body. 



And Q-lencairn, that aye was dowre and stern, ^ 
Says, — " Where's the aith ye sware to me ? 

Gin ye speak to a man o' the Douglas clan, 
A gray groat for thy crown and thee." — 

When Kilspindie took haud o' the king's bridle 
reins, 

He louted low down on his knee ; 
The king a word he durstna speak, 

Bat he looked on him wistfullie. 

He thocht on days that lang were gane, 

Till his heart was yearnin' and like to brast : 

As he turned him round, his barons frowned ; 
But Lindsay was dichtin' his e'en fu' fast. 

When he saw their looks, his proud heart rose, 
An' he tried to speak richt hauchtillie ; — 

" Gae tak' my bridle frae that auld roan's grip ; 
What sorrow gars him haud it sae sickeriie." 

An' he spurred his horse wi' gallant speed, 
But Archy followed him manfullie, 

And, though cased in steel frae shoulder to heel, 
He was first o' a' his companie. 

As they passed, he sat down on a stane in the 
yett, 
For a' his gray hair there was nae ither biel; 
The king staid the hindmost o' the train, 

And he aft looked back to his auld Gray 
Steel. 

Archy wi' grief was quite fordone, 

An' his arm fell weak that was anes like 
aim, 
An' he sought for some cauld water to drink, 

But they durstna for that dowre Glencairn. 

When this was tald to our gracious king, 

A redwood furious man woxe he ; 
He has ta'en the mazer cup in his han', 

And in flinders a' he gart it flee : — 
" Had I kend my Gray Steel wanted a drink, 

He should ha'e had o' the red wine free." 

And fu' sad at the table he sat him down, 
An' he spak' but ae word at the dine : — 

"01 wish my warst fae were but a king, 
Wi' as cruel counsellours as mine." 



Kcfjt 



[A Border Ballad by James Henry Dixon. 
— Few families have been more celebrated for 
raids and forays, than the border clan of Birt- 
whistle. The one who is the subject of the fol- 
lowing ballad, appears to be Andro o' the Birt- 
whistle, as he Avas called. If not altogether a 
traditionary personage, he lived in the reign of 
Henry VII., and his character has been handed 
down to us, as a man famed for deeds of gallan- 
try, as well as of foraging. In fact he was a sort 
of border Du Val. His descendants are said, in 
every respect, to have trod in his footsteps, even 
to the close of the 18th century ; and there are 
now old border farmers, who will speak of losing 
cattle in their young days, and end the narration 
by saying, " it was done by the Birtwhistles." 
The present descendants of the clan are potters 
and tinklers, well known in all the northern 
dales.] 

I rede ye tak' tent o' the Birtwhistle wicht, 
He forays by day, and he raids by the nicht ; 
He caresna for warden, for baillie, or reeve, 
Ye may post him at kirk, " and he'll laugh in his 

sleeve ; 
He'd harry, though Hairibee tree were in sicht, 
So daring a chiel is the Birtwhistle wicht ! 



* The door of a northern village church, is not 
merely used for the purpose of posting parochial 
or parliamentary notices ; it is the place for an- 
nouncements of every description requiring pub- 
licity, and placards of charity sermons will be 
often found there, along with those of auctions, 
tradesmens' advertisements, rewards for disco- 
very of malefactors, &c, &c. These latter used 
formerly, and indeed within the memory of man, 
to be read aloud in the church, and it was no 
uncommon thing after the benediction at the 
close of the prayers, to hear the clerk bawl out, 
"Sheep Stealing! Whereas, &c, &c." Such 
unseemly exhibitions have been very properly 
prohibited by act of parliament. By a figure of 
speech, a worthy who had had a reward offered 
for his apprehension, was said to have been 
" posted at kirk." 









t C V 






1 

1 



^9 



The Tyne, and the Tarras, the Tweed, and the k 

Till, 
They never could stop him, and troth ! never 

v/illj 
At the mirk hour o' midnicht, he'll cross the 

dark fen, 
He knows every windin' o' valley and glen ; 
Unseath'd he can roam, though na star shed its 

licht, 
For wha wad dare question the Birtwhistle wicht? 

The proud lord o' Dilston has deer in his park, 
He has keepers to watch them, and ban-dogs to 

bark; 
The baron o' Thirlwall has owsen and kye, 
And auld Gaffer Featherstone's pigs i' the stye— 
The priest canna claim them, or tythe them of 

richt, 
But they a' will pay tythe to the Birtwhistle 

wicht 1 

The prior o' Brinkburn is telling his beads, 
He patters his aves, and mutters his creeds ; 
At each pause o' the choir, he starts, when the 

breeze 
Booms its dirge through the tower, or sichs 

through the trees; 



He prays to the Virgin to shield him through 

nicht, 
From the powers o' hell, and the Birtwhistle 

wicht ! 

Fair lasses o' Cheviot, he bodes ye na gude, 
He'll ne'er kneel at altar, nor bow to the roode : 
But tell ye, your eyne ha' the gowan's bright \ 

sheen, 

The whiles he's prcparin' your mantles o' green. 
He'll grieve ye, and leave ye— alas, for the plicht ! / ;% vj 
For reckless in love is the Birtwhistle wicht. \p jj 

O ! gin he were ta'en to the Hairibee tree, U^ J 

; There'd be starers and gazers, of every degree ; /Wl^ 
There'd be shepherds from shielings, and knichts 

from their ha's, V- W~ ) 

And his neck-verse* would gain him unbounded / xVjv 

applause ; 
But it's na in a hurry ye'll witness that sicht, 
For wary and cute is the Birtwhistle wicht I /W ^' ) 



* The " neck-verse" was the beginning of the ! 
51st Psalm, " Miserere mei," &c. Hairibee was / 
| the common place of execution for all L order I 
a marauders. 



= 






-^>vl* 







In consulting this Index, care must be taken not to overlook the titles beginning with the 
article " The," which are given in alphabetical order under the letter T.] 



ALISON GROSS, 

ALLAN-A-MAUT, (2 sets) . . 283,4 

ANDREW LAMMIE, 265 

ANNAN WATER, .... 53 

ARCHIE OF CA'FIELD, 387 

ARCHIE ARMSTRANG'S AITH . . 407 

ARCHIE 0' KILSPINDIE, 

ARMSTRONG'S GOODNIGHT, 

ATHOL WOOD, 

AUCHINDOWN, . 

AULD MAITLAND, 

B 
BABY LON, OR THE BONNIE BANKS 

O' FORDIE, . . . .295 

BARTHRAM'S DIRGE, ... 394 
BISHOP THURSTAN, AND THE KING 

OF SCOTS, . . . .563 

BLACK AGNACE OF DTJNBAR, . 252 
BLANCHEFLOTTR AND JELLYFLO- 

RICE, 221 

BONDSEY AND MAISRY, . . 169 

| BONNIE BABY LIVINGSTONE, . 96 

BONNIE LIZIE LINDSAY, . . 49 

BONNIE SUSIE CLELAND, . . 294 

BOTHWELL BRIGG, ... 544 

BROWN ADAM, 285 

BTJRD HELEN, . , . . 178 

) BURNING OF AUCHINDOUN, (2 sets) 248 



CADYOW CASTLE, . . . .22-1 

CATHERINE JOHNSTONE, . . 64 

CHIL ETHER, I/O 

CHIELD MORICE, .... 117 

CHILDE MAURICE, . . . .120 
CHILD NORYCE, .... 122 

CHRISTIE'S WILL, .... 85 
CLERK SAUNDERS, (2 sets) . . G9— 71 
CUMNORHALL, 554 



DEATH OF FEATHERSTONHAUGH, 
DICK O' THE COW, 
DUNCAN, a Fragment, 






EARL CRAWFORD, 

EARL LINDSAYE, 

EARL RICHARD, . 

EARL RICHARD, 

EARL RICHARD'S DAUGHTER, 

EARL ROBERT, .... 

EDOM 0' GORDON, 

EDWARD, EDWARD, 

ELF1RHILL, .... 

ERLINGTON, 

F 

FAIRANNET, 
i FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHRYAN, 






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574 



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FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WIL- 
LIAM, .... 
FAUSE FOODRAGE, . 
FRENNETHALL, .... 



INDEX TO THE BALLADS. 
Pa S e. Jy. 



GEORDLE (2 sets), . . . .567 

GILMORICE, .... 113 

GIRTLEE, OR THE HAP OF HIND 

HALBERT, . . . .553 

GLASGOW PEGGY, ... 34 

GLENFINLAS, 58 

GLENKINDIE, ... 216 

GLENLOG1E (2 sets), . . . 57,58 

H 

HARDYKNUTE, .... 205 

HELENORE, 123 

HIGHLAND LEGEND, ... 256 

HOBBIE NOBLE, . 381 

HUGHIE THE GR^ME, . . " 410 

HUGHIE GRAHAM, . . . .411 

HYNDHORN, .... 134 



JAMES HERRIES, .... 222 
JAMES TELFER OF THE FAIR DOD- 

HEAD, .... 362 

JELLON GR.EME, . . . . 196 

JOCK 0' THE SIDE, ... 379 

JOCK JOHNSTONE THE TINKLER, . 93 
JOHN BARLEYCORN, ... 284 
JOHN THOMSON AND THE TURK, . 149 
JOHN1E OF BRAIDISBANK, . 407 

JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE, . . 405 

JOHNIE ARMSTRANG, ... 355 

JOHNNIE ARMSTRONG S LAST GOOD- 
NIGHT, . . . . .358 
JOHNIE FAA, .... 268 



K 
KATHERINE JANFARIE, 

KILMENY, 

KING MALCOM AND SIR COLVIN, 



KINMONT WILLIE, 
KNOCKESPOCK'S LADY, 



Pa*e. 
370 \ 



LADY ANNE, 

LADY CLARE, 

LADYELSPAT, .... 
LADY JANE, .... 

LADY JEAN, 

LADY JEAN, .... 

LADY MAISRY, .... 

LADY MARGARET, . . . . 55U 

LAIRD OF DRUM, . 136 \£ 

LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW, 409 [ J 

LAMMIKIN (5 sets), . . . . 241 1 

LIZIE BAILLIE, .... 290 V 

LIZZIE LINDSAY, . . . §l(j 

LOCHABER NO MORE, . . . 878 ^j 

LOCHINYAR, .... 

LORD BARNABY, 

LORDBEICHAN, .... 

LORD DONALD, 

LORDEWRIE, . . . . 404 fc 

LORD JOHN'S MURDER, . . . '104 ^ 

LORDLOYAT, .... 

LORD LOYEL, .... 

LORD MAXWELL'S GOODNIGHT, 

LORD RANDAL, .... 

LORD RONALD, 

LORD SOULIS, .... 

LORD SPYNIE, .... 

LORD THOMAS STUART, 

LORD WILLIAM, . . . .143 { 

LYTTIL PYNK1E, . . . 478 , 

M 



MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS, 
MARY HAMILTON, 

MAY OF THE MORIL GLEN, . . 507 

MAY COLYIN (2 sets), . . . 27,28 
MEMORABLES OF THE MONTGO- 
l MERIES, ... 254 



193 

:?G3 



POLYDORE, 

PRINCE ROBERT, 

PROUD LADY MARGARET, 



QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION, 

R 
REEDISDALE AND WISE WILLIAM, 
ROOKHOPE RYDE, 
ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILLY 

(2 sets), . . • 127- 

ROSMER HAFMAND, .... 



SAINT ULIN'S PILGRIM, . . 298 

SIR ALAN MORTIMER, , . .467 

SIR ARTHUR AND LADY ANNE, . 18 

SIR GEORGE MAXWELL, . . 557 

SIR GILBERT HAMILTON, . . 303 

SIR HUGH LE BLOND, . . .163 

SIR JAMES THE ROSE (2 sets), . 39—41 

SIR MAURICE, 171 

SIR NIEL AND MAC YAN, . . 289 

SIR OLUF, AND THE ELF KINGS 

DAUGHTER, . . .465 

SIR PATRICK 3PENS (2 sets), . 9—11 

SIR ROLAND, 52 

SON DAYIE, SON DAYIE, . . 287 

SWEET WILLIE AND FAIR ANNIE, 20 
SWEET WILLIE AND LADY MARGE- 

RIE, 74 

SWEET WILLIAM AND MAY MAR- 
GARET, .... 74 
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST, . 75 















THE BATTLE OF CORICHIE, 
THE BATTLE OF HARLAW, 
THE BATTLE OF LOUDON-HILL 
THE BATTLE OF LUNCARTY, 



THE ANGEL STARS, ... 36 

THE BATTLE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE, 538 
555 
138 
533 



THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE, . 
I THE BATTLE OF PENTLAND HILLS, 
i ' THE BATTLE OF PHILIPHAUGH, 
', THE BENT SAE BROWN, . . . li 

I THE BIRTWHISTLE WICHT, . ffi 

THE BLAEBERRIES, . . % 

I THE BONNIE EARL OF MURRAY, 
I THE BROOM OF COWDENKNOWS, 21 
THE BROWNIE OF FEARNDEN, . 5i 

THE CLERK'S TWA SONS 0' OWSEN- 

FORD, .... 2 

THE COURTEOUS KNIGHT, . . I 

THE COUT OF KEELDAR, . . 4 

THE CRUEL BROTHER, . . . 1 

THE CRUEL SISTER, ... 2 
j THE CURSE OF MOY, „ .2 

THE D^MON-LOYER, 1 

THE DOWY DEN 2 

THE DROWNED LOYERS, 
THE DUEL OF WHARTON AND STU- 
ART, 2 

THE DUKE OF ATHOLE'S NURSE, 1 
THE DUKE OF ATHOL, . . 5 

THE EARL OF DOUGLAS AND DAME 

OLIPHANT, . 1 

THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER, 1 

THE ELFIN KNICHT, . . . 4 

THE FAIRY KNIGHT, . . .4 

THE FAUSE LOYF.R, 2 

THE FIRE OF FRENDRAUGHT, . 2 

THE FRAY OF SUPORT, . . S 

THE GALLANT GRAHAMS, . . I 

THE GARDENER, .... 
THE GAY GOSS-HAWK, . 
THE GLOAMYNE BUCHTE, . . 4 

THE GRAY BROTHER, . . . S 

THE GREETIN' BAIRN, . . I 

THE GUDE WALLACE (2 sets), 233—2 
THE HAUGH3 OF CROMDALE, . £ 

THE HEIR OF LINNE, . 
THE JEW'S DAUGHTER, . 
THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK, 
THE KEACH P THE CREEL, 
THE KING'S DAUGHTER, 



^^^ <^ 






5T6 



INDEX TO THE BALLADS. 






rvsg 












THE LADS OF WAMPHRAY, . 
THE LADY AND HER PAGE, 
THE LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN, OR THE 
THREE CHAMPIONS OF LID- 
DISDALE, .... 

THE LAIRD OF LOGIE, . 
THE LAIRD O' MELDRUM AND 

PEGGY DOUGLAS, . . 177 

THE LAIRD OF OCHILTRIE, . . 107 

THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN 
THE LASS OF LOCHRYAN, 
THE LAST FAIRY, 
THE LOCHMABEN HARPER, 
THE MAID AND FAIRY, 
THE MARMAIDEN OF CLYDE ; 
THE MARTYR, 
THE MASTER OF WEEMYS, . . 89 

THE MERMAID OF GALLOWAY, . 43 

THE MILLAR'S SON, . . . .167 

THE MURDER OF CAERLAYEROC, 218 
THE ORPHAN MAID, . . , 156 

THE OUTLAW MURRAY, . . .349 
THE PARTED LOYERS, . . 159 

THE PROPHECY OF QUEEN EMMA, 98 
THE QUEEN'S MARIE, . . .261 

THE RAID OF GLEN FRUIN, . . 549 

THE RAID OF THE REIDSWIRE, . 365 
THE SPIRIT OF THE GLEN, . . 497 
THE TANE-AWAY, . . . .503 
THE TWA BROTHERS, ... 157 
THE TWA MAGICIANS, . . .159 

THE TWA MARTYRS' WIDOWS, . 84. 



THE TWEEDDALE RAIDE, 
THE WARLOCK OF AIKWOOD, . 
TEE WEARY COBLE O'CARGILL, . 
THE WEDDING OF ROBIN HOOD ANL 

LITTLE JOHN, 
THE WEE WEE MAN, . 
THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL, 
THE WITCH OF FIFE, . 
THE WITCH OF PITTENWEEN, 
THE YOUNG JOHNSTONE, . 
THE YOUNG TAMLANE, . 

TOM LINN, 

j THOMAS 0' YONDERDALE, 
THOMAS THE RHYMER, 
THROUGH THE WOOD, 

W 

WATER KELPIE, . 
WATTY AND MADGE, 
WILLIAM AND MARGARET, 
WILLIAM AND MARJORIE, 
WILLIE'S DROWNED IN GAMERY, 



YOUNG AIKIN, 
YOUNG BEKIE, 
YOUNG BENJIE, 
YOUNG PEGGY, 
YOUNG RANDAL, 
YOUNG WATERS, 






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